


Copper & Bones

by Ozzy911



Category: Christian Bible, Original Story
Genre: 1880s, Alcohol, Angels, Blood, Christianity, Cult, Danger, Dark, Death, Demons, Evil, F/M, Gambling, God - Freeform, Good, Gore, Guns, HOLY, Hi i changed the rating because a friend told me to, Homophobia, I don’t know anymore, Implied Sexual Content, Love, Lucifer - Freeform, M/M, Mystery, Oh my god this is unholy, Oh yeah I should mention this is an original story, Other, Ouija Board, Pentagram, Poker, Racism, Romance, Saints, Satan - Freeform, Satanism, Sexual Tension, Summoning, Suspense, UNFAIR, UNHOLY, Violence, ZOZO - Freeform, don’t worry i don’t support racism this just deals with the subject because you know 1880s, emotional tension, hey that’s a good tag idea, i don’t support that either it’s the 1880s remember, i had no clue what fandom to put this in, i support any religious belief, n word not allowed, no not from the tv show, old timey, risk, the Devil - Freeform, these are all touchy subjects i get it, vengeance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:00:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 29
Words: 169,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21855673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ozzy911/pseuds/Ozzy911
Summary: Raymond Earnest is a gambler with a good heart but has already bit off more than he could chew in the town of miserable Las Vegas. Flat-broke and catching wind of a group of high-chinned backers, not to mention the shackles of the world that have him chained, it’s obvious to tell that Ray needs some assistance. However, the kind of help he gets is not what he expected—especially not what he wanted at first. Who would actually want to dive headfirst into revenge, death, and satanism to solve a dispute? Well, it becomes clear that he’s the one to conquer that very task, alongside a rather peculiar man.~Or this because I don’t know what I want the summary to be~“Hear me out,” Luther tried, “What do you think I’m doing here?”It was all starting to come together. Why Luther asked Raymond for a game, why he handed him money, why he wanted to be his friend—it was all bribery. And why he asked if he was religious, of course. It all led to this, didn’t it? “You’re some sort of satanist,” he hissed.Luther smiled. “Precisely.”
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	1. Blood in the Wine

**Author's Note:**

> !Warning!  
> This work contains sensitive subjects and unpopular opinions! Keep in mind that this is purely for fun, and though it incorporates real life themes, objects, and people, and is sometimes inspired off real life events, the main focus of the storyline is not to be taken as serious as history.
> 
> The horizontal lines indicate time skips within the story!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matthew 28:17

They played against a black man because they were certain this would be an easy win. Money on the table, cards in hand, a nervous look on their opponent. The black man hadn’t mastered that poker face at all, and his wallet was on the line. He wanted to prove them wrong, he knew he could, but the odds weren’t in his favor. He was soon walking away from the table and headed to the bar with his hat down, tail between his legs, and proud sniggers behind him. He took a seat at the bar, empty pockets unable to provide with as much as a drink to forget about his loss. He moped at the end of the bar table, making sure he looked clean and at least slightly professional. The opponents he played against were acquaintances of each other, so they’d split the win, probably. They headed out the door, casting slurs from their mouths and laughing about.

The bar was small and unpopular, but sufficed and fulfilled its purpose any way you put it. Drink, food, smokes, seats, and peace was offered here. The building had an ugly name and look with unfriendly employees, but was clean efficient. That’s all the loser needed.

He was expecting a few hours of solstice and quiet for him to curse and shame himself for his petty habits. Gambling wasn’t worth it, he told himself this over and over, and yet he went back to it every time. He was allowed to. It was 1885. The law was passed 20 years ago, he was a free man in a cruel world. 

He expected quiet. Even with the slightly buzzing bar, with people talking amongst themselves and chuckling over whatever it was that entertained them, he expected quiet for himself.

And yet, there was something that felt off. The gambler couldn’t figure it out exactly, but it felt as if something was poking at him. He looked up and around, not wanting to seem too frantic as he searched the bar behind him, and then he caught a glimpse of it. Or, rather, of him.

There was a man at the far end of the bar where the exit was. He was leaning against the wall, dressed in black trousers, blacker shoes, and a white shirt with a flipped-up collar. He was pale, as if the sun hated him and refused to shine down upon him, and yet he looked healthy. His blonde hair fell over his head in curly streaks, thick and long enough to create bangs. His jaw was covered in a strange cut of beard, something intricate but not classy. He was a strange fellow for this time but was in no way a daffodil in a field of roses. He blended in with the crowd, and the only reason why the gambler noticed him was because the stranger’s bright blue eyes were staring right into him.

The gambler made eye-contact for half a moment, quickly looking away and pretending to not have seen the man. But, admittedly, he still felt uncomfortable. He immediately thought this guy was out for his blood, maybe saw him lose and thought he could beat a little more out of him. The gambler only thought this because it’s happened once or twice before. 

He took a breath, not even thinking about leaving, now. He tried that before—they’d only follow him out, beat him ‘til he was cold, then drag him to an alley so he couldn’t be found. If he was going to get attacked, it would be best to get attacked in the company of people. He doubted many bystanders would bother intervening or helping out, and he also knew that even if the police  _ were _ called they wouldn’t help much either. But, there was a better chance of getting help from a few dozen people than from a brick wall. The gambler adjusted himself in his seat as the bartender walked over to him: an old guy with old clothes and a short but thick white beard. “The `ell you want,” the old man went.

“Nothing,” the gambler said, “Just a sit.”

“Hey,” a voice from behind him surprised the gambler, “Get us a couple of glasses. Whiskey.” 10 cents were put on the table.

The gambler looked over his shoulder and found the white man with blonde hair standing next to him. He tensed instantly.

The old bartender gave sideways glances to both men, then stole away with the money. The blonde sat down on the stool next to the gambler. “How much you got?” he asked, not looking the other in the eye.

The loser shook his head, “I ain’t won nothin`. No point in takin` a hit, I got nothin`a grab.”

The blonde raised his eyebrows in surprise, now looking the loser in the face. Then, he smiled, checking the black man up and down with his bright eyes. “You think I’m gonna try to get into a fight with you?” he laughed. “You’re jacked, bud. No way in hell am I messing with you.”

Now that he was close, the gambler saw more details on the blonde. He had some height to him but was overall a skinny guy. Fit, but not muscular. His hands were clean of thick hair and deep creases, and his face was soft. He was a young guy, maybe around the same age as the gambler. 

“What’s your name?” the blonde asked.

“Raymond Earnest, sir.”

“Luther Stagmire,” he held out his hand.

Raymond blinked, hesitating only slightly. However, he reacted as anyone would, and shook his hand. 

Luther’s grin was only growing wider. “That a first?” He ended the handshake.

“Yeah,” Raymond answered, “...Yeah, it is.” He cleared his throat, “Sorry, uh… What did you ask just a second ago?”

“I asked how much money you got out of that round,” he gestured toward the table.

“You were watching?”

“Hardly.”

“Sir, I lost everythin`,” Raymond told him.

“Figured,” he put his elbows up on the bar, “You gave it all away right at the end.”

“Sorry?”

“You know, in the look,” he pointed to his own face, “You were a nervous wreck right at the end there. They knew exactly how to play. Work on that poker face.” 

Raymond frowned right as the drinks were coming over. Two glasses, filled with hard liquor, were placed in front of either of them. The old man said nothing and walked away. Luther grabbed his glass and took a sip, and Raymond just held his for a bit.

“Let me ask you a different question,” the blonde said, “How much did you have beforehand?”

Raymond shrugged, “Few hundred.”

Luther whistled. “Damn… All gone?”

“All of it, sir.” He tried to justify himself, “Won the night before. That was the most money I ever did have.”

“You buy the suit with that?” 

“Yes, sir.” Raymond was dressed in a nice, tailored suit, the color matching the hue of sun-crisped sand. His shoes were traditionally black, the rest of his clothes tan up clear to his hat. Now, unlike Luther,  _ he _ was a strange sight to see. There weren’t many black men in this part of the country with tailored clothing. “I shoulda gone home after last night. I played my cards bad. God ain’t done me right, sir.” He took a sip of his whiskey. “Can I ask,” he started, “Why’d you buy me this? What’d I do?”

“Raymond, I can tell you’re in a bad place,” Luther said as if he could read the man’s mind, “Plus, not many black men come around here. And even fewer gamble,” he tapped the table, “I got a knack for it myself, I need a good run,” he smiled, “I was gonna ask if you wanted to play a game? We could pull a few others in.”

The gambler shook his head. “No, sir. I’m flat-broke. Couldn’t if I wanted to.”

“Won’t be a big game, no high-stakes. Just a few cents, something light, just for practice,” he flipped a few dollars to him.

Raymond immediately refused. “No, no. I… Don’t give me money.”

“I’m giving it to you anyway, whether you’re playing me or not.”

Raymond pushed his hand away. “I ain’t no beggar.”

Luther’s smile was everlasting. “Then play.”

The gambler frowned, lowering his brow. He studied the other’s face, trying to find anything more than that smile, and only found a strange aura that surrounded him. Raymond couldn’t explain it, it was like a cloud of playful wickedness that encased the blonde. It… made him feel compelled to comply.

He sighed, taking the money. Luther smiled with his teeth flashing. “Let’s invite some friends~”

* * *

Though it was a light game, it was a long game. It lasted deep into the night, and everyone was loopy with the drowsiness topping the tipsiness. The most bet was ten dollars, which was still a lot, but not anywhere close to the hundreds that Raymond lost the previous game.

Which, by the way, he lost this game, too.

Luther was the one to snag the cash, wielding an incredible hand. He took the table by surprise last minute, and through laughs and jokes, he stole the win. The other two men that he pulled to play were light-hearted and left the midnight bar shortly after the round ended.

Raymond expected to leave the bar without much more talk, but Luther pulled him aside as he arranged the table. “Ray, c`mere,” he called him over.

Raymond stood next to him, and Luther grabbed his arm, sort of hanging on him. “You religious?” he whispered randomly.

Ray blinked. “My mama was.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

The gambler shrugged, at the same time trying to shimmy himself away from the contact. “I guess so. I dunno, that old man ain’t doin` me right as of late.”

Luther only held him tighter. He leaned against the gambler, and Raymond had to push against him just to stay standing. Luther’s grin was wicked. “Come outside,” he told the other, then let go and walked to the door.

Ray didn’t trust that at all. Last time that happened he got beat half to death. But… what sort of testimony was that? Ask if he’s religious and then put up a fight? The gambler sighed. He supposed that, even if there was a fight, he knew he could outmatch Luther. He was built bigger and stronger—hell, the blonde even admitted that he’d never try to get into a fight with him! So, unless he had multiple people waiting out there, the brawl was Ray’s to win. He adjusted his hat and followed the man outside.

Beyond the doors of the bar was a shallow urban area. A small city named Las Vegas, located in the southwest portion of the country. Construction was being done every day to make this place something huge, but funds were small and faith was low. There was no promise, only chances of success. A brick road ran in front of the bar, buildings flanking both sides of it. The roads were lined with expensive electrical lights, but by now every city had those. No one was around this time of night, nobody walking about, no horse carriages trotting down the road. The cicadas screamed melodies into the air, creating a steady rhythm coming from all about.

Luther led him down the sidewalk to one of the lights, standing under it. He looked around, as if making sure no one was watching, and Raymond was ready to roll his sleeves up. 

“Alright,” Luther dusted himself off, “I’ve got an offer for you.”

Ray lowered his brow, no less intrigued.

Luther pulled a small bundle of cash from his pocket, tens stacked into a thin pile. “You wanna get lucky with the cards?” he grinned, handing the wad to Raymond. “Keep meeting me at the bar. I’ll let you in on a trick of mine.”

Raymond took the money, wide-eyed. There were $70 in total, the  _ second  _ largest amount of money he’s ever had. How did this guy have this kind of cash? He wasn’t high-class—at least he didn’t look like it. And he was just giving it out willy-nilly? How much more did he have?

Either way, the losing gambler was very interested. He flipped through the cash, his eyes glued on the currency. He sort of laughed, then looked up, only to find himself alone. His eyes went wide and he suddenly felt extremely cold. He looked all around, spinning on his heels, trying to find his acquaintance, but all he saw was the empty street.

The cicadas stopped singing. It was deathly quiet. An uneasiness settled over him, goosebumps rising under his suit. With his free hand, he slipped his hat off, looking up at the lamps. Not one moth fluttered about it.

He bit his tongue, not sure what just happened. Maybe he zoned out?

He looked down at the money in his hand, pushing the wad into his pocket. Drowsiness hit him. He should find a place to stay for the night.

Putting his hat back on, he started down the sidewalk.

  
  


* * *

Raymond decided he wouldn’t spend a single cent of the cash that was given to him on gambling. Not until he saw Luther again. Ray was a man with bad habits, but not a stupid man. He tried to understand his limits and most times it paid off in the end. Most times. Last night was a bad example.

He wasn’t exactly sure what time of day or night Raymond was supposed to meet him. So, he’d been here all day. Buying drinks now and again, grabbing meals, trying to start up a conversation with a few people. But, since this was a mostly-white bar, no one paid him much mind. 

Late evening was settling onto the small city. The bar was starting to become jumbled with a few extra patrons. Raymond just sat at the end of the bar table, like usual.

To his surprise, the old and grumpy bartender from last night came and struck up a talk. “You been `ere all day,” he hissed.

“Mhm,” Ray responded, not looking up at him, “Waitin` for someone.”

“That blonde bastard?” the old man chuffed.

Raymond sort of chuckled. “Yup. The blonde bastard.”

The old man hit the table, getting the gambler’s attention. “You can wait for `im at that table in the corner. Don’t need you scarin` off my good customers,” he looked Ray right in the eye, “Or, even better, `ow `bout you just make like a tree `n leaf my bar.”

Raymond only lowered his brow, knowing how much good reciprocating that frustration would be. He flicked a nickel onto the table. “Just get me a glass and I’ll sit somewhere else.”

The bartender walked off, saying nothing, and not taking the nickel.

Raymond rolled his eyes and snatched the coin, getting off of the stool. Feeling comfortably ostracized, he meandered to a nearby table with a number of four seats. Only one would be occupied, and that’s the way it would stay. A set of cards was on the table, as there was on every table. He passed the time with a lonely and boring game of solitaire.

He wasn’t paying any attention to the rest of the bar. As he waited, he was in his own little world, unconsciously playing the game whilst not thinking much at all. It was only until he felt his hat being stolen from his head was he ripped from his trance. He started a “Hey!” as he turned in his seat, but stopped his call when he recognized the man behind him.

It was Luther, the same white-black contrast of clothes, the same grin, and a new sand-colored hat that he fixed on his head. “Hello~” he greeted, pulling one of the chairs close and sitting next to Raymond. “How’re you doing?” he saw the game before him, “You winning?”

Ray settled down. “I’m not movin` fast,” he said, “`Bout time you got here.”

“I figured we’d meet at the same time as yesterday. What, you been here for a while?”

“All day,” Ray told him.

“You’re all lies,” Luther laughed. 

“No, sir,” Raymond argued. 

The blonde pat him on the back, “Well, my bad. We’ll have better communication this time, alright?”

Ray was gathering the cards into a pile again. “Luther,” he changed the subject, “The hell happened to you last night? Where’d you run off to?”

Luther seemed confused. “Hm?”

“Last night,” he tried to explain it better, “You took me outside, gave me the money, then just disappeared,” he frowned, “Creepy as hell, man.”

“Oh,” the blonde chuckled, “Guess you didn’t catch me walk off. Sorry about that.”

Raymond instinctively knew it was something more, “But—” he peeped, only to be cut off.

“C’mon. Let’s head out of here, I know a place,” he stood up and pushed the chair in.

The gambler sighed and set the cards on the table, standing and following Luther out of the buzzing bar. When they managed to agree on a pace on the sidewalk, the blonde handed him his hat back, and Ray put it on. “So… Where’s the place?”

“Not too far, over by the woodworks.”

“Don’t think I’ve been by the woodworks.”

“Just a carving shop,” Luther shrugged, “But, again, it’s just next to that place.”

“Right.”

They walked down the dark sidewalk. Only two horse-drawn carriages passed by on the brick road, and only a few people were walking on the pavement with them. As they walked, Luther tried to pick at Raymond’s mind. “Why’re you here, Ray?”

The gambler blinked, “Er… Here in the city?”

“Yup.”

“Eh… I came here just to be left alone. Not lotsa people here, but also not as borin` as a country town,” he sighed, “I didn’t like my hometown much.”

“How come?”

“Just family issues. My mama died last year, and my older sis` didn’t get along with me. Plus, I used to get into trouble as a teenager with the rest of the neighborhood, so I didn’t feel very welcomed.” That wasn't far from the truth.

“How about your dad?”

“My pa lived and died a slave. I didn’t never meet him.”

Luther sighed, “That sucks.”

“You could say that again,” he was feeling really uncomfortable talking about it. He decided to return the favor, “How `bout you?”

“Ha, I’m sorta in the same situation you’re in. Just looking for a place to get away from home and roll with whatever life throws my way. I’m the oldest with three little brothers, my mom and I don’t get along, and who knows where my dad is,” he chuckled as if he wasn’t bothered. “Isn’t that a royal coincidence? Both got family issues.”

“...Royal?”

“Just a phrase.”

“I never did hear it.”

“I’m from up north. Guess you don’t have that one down south?”

“How’d you know I’m from down south?”

“Your accent, bud.”

“...Oh. Right,” he cleared his throat, “How long you been here?”

“Just about a month. I’ve been chilling at a rent house on the other side of town.”

“...Chilling…?” Ray chuckled, “Northern phrase, again?”

“Yup~”

This sense of foreignness gave the gambler that bad feeling again. Raymond wasn’t necessarily concerned for his safety at this point, this guy didn’t look like the fighting type. He seemed more like a manipulator, able to twist your words around. He also seemed to know a lot of things: secrets, intel, just things that would surprise you. And he had this bad aura about him… Raymond noticed that again. He blamed it on coincidence.

They walked a few blocks before turning, their destination just ahead. The woodshop was positioned sideways, a large door ten feet tall and wide facing the street while the entrance was off to the side. It was set up like that so workers could haul large projects out to the street where they’d immediately be loaded to whatever carriage awaited them. The shop was closed, as were the rest of the buildings that lined the street.

Luther led him across the street. “How long you been here, Ray?”

“A week. Not long.”

“Where you been staying?”

“Anywhere. Benches, abandoned buggies. Not lots let me stay for rent.”

“Well, I’ll be sure that’ll change!” Luther guaranteed. “This old lady that owns the house, she’s nice enough. And if she isn’t, I’ll sneak you in.”

Ray forced a chuckle but didn’t necessarily like the thought of staying under the same roof with this guy. Or sneaking in to do it… He didn’t argue, though. Not right now, anyway.

They made it across the street, going to the left of the woodworks, in between it and a tobacco shop. Luther took the lead down the nearly pitch-black alleyway, clear to the end of it. As Raymond’s eyes adjusted he realized that the alley didn’t cut to the back of the buildings; there was a cement wall that stood around twelve feet tall, pushed right against the back of the buildings and blocked their way. The two men stood at the base of it, looking up. 

“So… this it?”

“Nope,” Luther was smiling, “We climb it.”

Ray looked at him, confused. “What?”

“We climb it!” the blonde pushed passed him and pat the wall of the woodworks. “You see, there’s a foothold here,” he pushed the toe of his shoe into a crack in the boards of the woodshop, “and a handhold right up there,” he pointed to a pipe that stuck out of the building, dripping, “then you shimmy over to the wall, and up on the roof,” he gestured back and forth, “and then all you gotta do is climb down.”

Raymond blinked. “...Uh…”

“Oh! I almost forgot!” Luther took his foot out of the crack and zipped by the gambler, leaning over a large stone that sat at the corner of the wall and the tobacco store. He pushed it aside to reveal a large crack in the cement that could have become a home for raccoons or possums had the rock not blocked it. Instead, there was a long coil of rope that he took from the ground. He stood, throwing his arm inside the loop of the thick rope with a huge smile. “Need this to get down,” he went back to the other wall.

“Wait,” Raymond put his hands up, “Why? Why do we need to scale this?”

“How old are you?” Luther suddenly asked.”

“Uh—” Ray stuttered, “26?” he answered, confused.

“You’re as old as me! You can make it up no problem!”

Ray squinted. “Ain’t there a better way in? Can’t we just go `round?”

“Well, there  _ is _ a better way in. But that’s the gate. We’ll be seen if we go through there. This is private property,” Luther said bluntly.

“ _ What? _ We’re trespassin`?”

“They aren’t doing anything with it! It’s just fenced-in hunting grounds, they’re trying to save it from city construction. No one even touches this place, it’s fine.”

Ray frowned. ”What’s on the other side of the wall?”

“I set up shop over there.”

“‘ _ Set up shop _ ’?” he shook his head, “Luther, you’re not making any sense to me. What sort of opium cartel do you got down there?”

“You kidding me? There’s no drugs! No, nothing like that,” he was already starting to climb the wall. “Listen, I’ll tell you what you want to know once we’re there. But, this is a now or never deal.” He was hanging off the wall with one hand and one foot attached to it. “You either come with me now, or I will disappear from your life.”

That last sentence made Raymond freeze. He felt a million chills crawl up his spine and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Every instinct, every trigger in his brain, every part about him told him to just let this screwy guy go and that he’d be better off being left alone. He already had nearly $70 in his pocket. That’s a steady living! He could buy a house with that! He could just wave that guy off, turn on his heels, and trust that he’d never see him again. As conspicuous as that was…

But, of course, there was this curiosity that pulled at his conscious. A part of him that wanted to see what Luther had in store, wanted to see what this secret was. This man, he was something else. A different breed. He was very strange, very off, very queer. 

And that smile was more than convincing.

Raymond straightened himself, pushed his hat down, and marched over to the foothold.

Luther snickered, “That-a-boy!” He hauled himself up to the pipe, clinging on.

Ray put his shoe in the foothold but didn’t raise himself. He just watched Luther do it first so he had an idea of how to traverse this. He’s climbed plenty of trees, he could probably do it on his own… but it’s been a while, and he doubted he could do it without a few scrapes. 

Once Luther was hoisting himself up on the roof, Ray finally decided to climb after him. He lunged for the pipe, grabbing hold, and searching for the handholds on the cement wall. He didn’t find any crevices, but sort of saw where he could push against it and the wall of the woodshop to move up just enough to grab the roof. It was then when he realized just how much this suit limited his movement. He tried to fight through it, struggling to position himself, and in his wake, he heard a faint and quick  _ -rip- _

_ Great _ , he thought.

He did his best and took hold of the edge, pushing off the wall with his foot and hauling himself up on the rooftop. Luther was there to grab him in case if he were to fall, and thankfully he didn’t. The blonde was crouched down, low, and told Raymond to do the same. “Don’t exactly want anyone seeing us.”

“Right,” Ray said, not really paying attention. He was busy feeling the back of his arm where his shoulder blade was. And, sure enough, on the back of his armpit was a hole. He sighed.

Luther wrapped the rope around the chimney that jutted from the rooftop, tying it securely before giving a hefty tug to ensure its reliability. Once satisfied, he shuffled over to the back of the rooftop. “Just be careful here. Don’t let go of the rope on the way down.” And with that, he jumped.

Ray felt his heart skip a beat watching him disappear like that. He looked over the edge, fearing to find his friend ironically on the ground below, sprawled out with however many bones broken. But, to Ray’s fortunate realization, he was scaling the wall in hops, carefully sliding down the rope with his sleeves over his hands to prevent burning. Once he touched the ground he dusted himself off and looked up at Raymond, gesturing for him to come down.

The gambler grabbed the rope, taking a deep breath. If he had to guess, this probably wouldn’t end great. He tried mimicking what Luther had done, backing up off the roof and taking it in hops. He held his breath, counted to three, then dropped.

The feeling of being suspended in midair for a moment was far from pleasant for him, and it wasn’t until he swung back to the wall rather harshly with his feet planted on the wood did he realize he forgot to cover his hands. They stung with rope-burn, but he was still a dozen feet up in the air and couldn’t let go. Now he just tried to do his best on his own, taking it much slower than Luther had, but nevertheless made it to solid ground.

Luther pat him on the back. “Wow. You look like you’ve never rappelled down from a rooftop before,” he joked, “How about your hands?”

He must have seen that Ray didn’t cover them. “Oh… they’re okay. Just burnt.” He looked down at them but couldn’t see anything in the darkness. 

“We’ll fix those up in a second. C’mon, it’s right under here.”

The area they were in was woodland, a sliver of bare grass stretched clear down the wall, but the rest of it was littered with tall grass and trees and bushes. You could see through the forest for miles, seemingly no end to it. A thousand animals must have called that place home.

Luther walked only a few yards to his right, just behind the tobacco shop. He stood by the wall, poking at the ground with his foot, until finding something. The toe of his shoe hit something solid that stuck up slightly from the grass. He leaned over, grabbed it, then heaved it upward.

It was a trapdoor, masked in a layer of faux grass, dirt, and leaves to conceal it. Raymond hadn’t even realized that’s what it was—hell, he thought Luther had just peeled away the earth itself for a second. The trapdoor wasn’t very big, just wide enough to fit a person vertically, but seemed very heavy. “C`mon, go,” Luther beckoned.

With a little haste, Raymond went for the trapdoor, finding a ladder that led down to what looked like a sewer system. His brain thought twice but his body acted on its own, quickly going down the ladder. The blonde followed behind, and any light that managed to be shed by the moon was destroyed when the heavy plate closed them off from above.

It was truly pitch black.

The ladder system wasn’t too far deep. With just a few more steps Raymond found a flat surface and was able to stand freely. He grabbed at the wall and took a few steps to the side so Luther could get in.

When he arrived, eyes wide to let in as much nonexistent light as they could, Luther reached for the gambler. First try and he made contact, and it scared a noise out of him. “Ray!” Luther laughed, “Don’t run off, c’mon. You’ll find this neat~”

He walked forward, dragging Raymond into the infinite darkness.

Until…

It sounded like a quiet wind whispered through the underground area they were in, and with it came light. Candles that lined the walls glowed gold and lit up the area. 

This was definitely not a sewer. It wasn’t wet or smelly and did not run in the shape of a tube like a sewer would. It was more of a box shape, with cobblestone walls that led to different parts of the room, and quite clean albeit dark. Sconces held the half-melted candles that provided some light from their flame, flame that Raymond realized had ignited from nothing just now. A few tables were lined about the small room, many things hung from the ceiling—herbs, flowers, animal bones, fur, bird feet, feathers—and a wooden door to their right was closed but promised more than what was already here. It as also deathly cold, the chill seeping into the gambler’s bones.

Ray had mixed emotions. “...What is all this?”

“My shop,” Luther said, “I found this hollowed-out bunker and decided to use it. Looked abandoned for ages, cobwebs all over the place, dead animals, it was royally gross,” there was that word again, “I cleaned it up and…” he chuckled, “...well, what do you think it is?”

Raymond walked forward to the middle of the room, head up, looking at the braids of items hanging from the ceiling. He reached up and touched one of the bone braids, trying to identify what animal it was from. Ultimately he knew that there were bones of many animals, not just one. Small hollow bones of birds and thicker bones of rodents, maybe even cats. There was plenty he couldn’t identify, though, and there were a number of these braids. He looked to the others, approaching one made of flowers and herbs. It had a strong smell to it, a multitude of colors masked in the golden light painted the plants as they hung silently. He looked over his shoulder at Luther. “You a witch doctor?”

“Nope. Good guess, though,” he winked.

Raymond wandered over to one of the tables, Luther beginning to tail him now. Assortments of books and papers were spread about, written in a language he couldn’t understand—or maybe it was just sloppy handwriting. Raymond could read pretty decently, not the best, but well enough. He recognized the letters on the papers just by skimming them but couldn’t pick out the words. Surely they were in a different language. 

He put a hand on the leather cover of a book, about to open it, then looking at the blonde for permission. Luther gestured him on, as if saying, “Go ahead,” and Ray opened it up.

More of that strange language was scribbled down. The book itself was very thick and must have been filled entirely with the gibberish. Some of the granite left over from the sketchings was rubbing onto the opposite pages, but not enough to the point where the letters were indiscernible. As he flipped through the pages, looking for anything other than words, he guessed again, “Some sort of… scientist?”

“Not at all.”

“A cult?”

“Ah!” Luther cheered, “Close, close now!”

This made Raymond uneasy, but not uninterested. Of course, the first thing he suspected was that Klu Klux Klan bull, but they’d been dead for a decade or so. Plus, with everything else that happened these past two days, surely not.

And then, near the middle of the book, he saw it.

A strange pairing of shapes. The figures were familiar but complex when put together, as if haunting him. An upside-down star was encased within a scraggly circle, the sketch itself rough and filling the entire left page. The right page was filled with scribbles and other smaller drawings similar to the figure at the left; one example being the star in the form of a type of goat face, with two horns protruding from the top, two ears hanging off the side, and its nose at the end of its long face on the bottom. The eyes of the goat stared into Raymond, red ink smudged around them. Other repeated drawings covered the page, multiple crosses, thorny crowns, nails. It was as if a madman had scribbled all over the page in a blind rage, a rage against God. The gambler slowly lifted his eyes to the blonde, who loomed over his shoulder like a standing shadow.

“Any guesses now?”

Ray left the book open on the table, side-stepping away from him, only to be grabbed. The hand that had his sleeve wasn’t harsh, it didn’t grip him to the point where he’d struggle to break free. The hand was soft and comforting, and it convinced Ray to stop.

Luther gingerly rubbed his thumb on his arm, and he felt it through the sleeve of his suit. They looked through each other, their faces speaking a thousand words. Ray wanted to leave. He wanted to get away, but only as far as not to be caught in the crossfire of this mess. He wanted to know more about it, he wanted to figure it all out, why this place existed, why Luther was wrapped up in it, what exactly this “cult” was. And yet, at the same time, he heard his family’s voice. His mother scolding him if he ever got into a mess, his sister fighting him when they were younger if he called her a name. That feeling of getting into trouble was rooted back to punishment by the ones he loved most, and he couldn’t have that happen to him.

Luther saw this. He knew he couldn’t force Raymond to commit to anything, he could only coax him with the illusion or hope of security. Ray needed friends. He needed someone to have his back. He was a sheep in a cave of wolves, and he needed that sort of protection from the outside world. 

And Luther… well, Raymond didn’t know what Luther wanted out of him.

“Hear me out,” Luther tried, “What do you think I’m doing here?”

It was all starting to come together. Why Luther asked him for a game, why he handed him money, why he wanted to be his friend—it was all bribery. And why he asked if he was religious, of course. It all led to this, didn’t it? “You’re some sort of satanist,” he hissed.

Luther smiled. “Precisely.”


	2. Hiding Below

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Psalm 32:8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for all the hits on Chapter 1! It means a whole lot—at first I didn’t know how you’d all respond to this surfacing-nightmare, but the support has showed its valor, and you’re keeping me motivated to continue! I hope you’ll enjoy the rest of the story~
> 
> Thanks again!  
> ~Ozzy

Raymond Earnest wasn’t exactly sure how to respond. Sure, he was confused, intimidated, maybe even scared, but he didn’t pull away or even spit words for the blonde to back off. His eyes were fixed on that calm smile as a silent whisper settled over the room.

Before he could even respond, Luther was already giving him business talk. “Do you think it’s fair that you should be so down on luck recently? And all at once? Mama dies, sister kicks you out, broke outta luck, beat half to death in the streets?”

Ray pulled away from him now. “How the hell do you know all that?” he shot. He knew he told Luther about his mom and about being broke, and he  _ may _ have been able to guess the beatings… but getting kicked out of town? No, he only said he and his sister didn’t see eye-to-eye, not that there was a fight.

“I know plenty about everyone. Thanks to…” he paused, his smile only growing as he looked down at the book on the table. He ran his fingers over the granite face of the goat, then finished, “...a friend.”

Raymond’s eyes glanced all around. He was realizing where he was, why all of this was here, what Luther may have wanted with him. His frantic gaze was glued on the ladder system that led out of here. And yet, though he knew he could have run, and knew he should have, he didn’t want to. Something kept him frozen… Something… He stood still.

“You wanna have that friend? You wanna be shown how to win in life? How to break from the flock of miserable sheep that this ‘God’ calls his followers?” the blonde stepped to him as Ray stepped back, keeping the gambler within arm's reach, “My friend will show you~”

Raymond shook his head. “I… I think I’m okay. I think I’ll leave.” Finally, some sense came over him. There was plenty of room to move around Luther, and if the blonde tried to pull anything the gambler knew that he’d easily best him. In fact, that’s what he expected, and started to walk past him, very tense.

But Luther only tapped his foot. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he warned.

Ray didn’t listen. He was practically to the ladder by now.

“You know what this place is, don’t you? You know this doesn’t run on any sort of man-made work.”

The rope-burnt hands were on the metal bars.

“You know if you open that latch and leave, this thing will follow you…”

Raymond stopped.

He looked over his shoulder.

Luther was no longer grinning. “There’s a force here at work. One that’s hungry. One that  _ you _ committed to when I gave you that chance at the wall.” Golden shadows covered half of his face. “You don’t want to see what it will do.”

Even though the gambler was half-convinced that this was all a load of bull, there was this… strange feeling. It was as if something was clinging to his ankles, like shackles, and it tingled up to this throat. He couldn’t place the feeling exactly. It was so off… so far from normal…

“Tell me what’ll happen,” Raymond said. 

Luther straightened his posture. “You leave, you turn away from the vault… and this place will be gone. I’ll be gone. Every trace of me from anyone’s memory will be gone… except for yours,” he started walking forward, “This thing… ghost, monster, demon—call it what you will… it will haunt you and remind you of what you lost. It will tear your brain apart. You’ll go mad.”

“So what?” Ray flashed his teeth.

“So… You’ll want to tell others… Make them believe something that they can’t see…” he frowned, serious, “And a black man in these parts preaching about the Devil will bring you straight to a lynching.”

Ray’s hands left the bars. “...And so what if I stay? If… If what you’re sayin` is true… Don’t that mean I’ll go mad either way?”

Luther was very close now. Raymond could feel his breath hit his face, and pale hands landed gingerly on his shoulders. “Not if I’m here.”

Ray shook his head. He didn’t know how to feel. Comforted? Scared? Doubtful? Every sane part about him told him to ditch this place, get as far away as possible. But a creeping snake made its way into his head. As he looked into Luther’s eyes, seeming particularly silver, the creeper told him to stay. He truly wouldn’t like what would happen if he left.

Raymond felt as if he was going mad already. Just being here for this short amount of time, just looking at this cultist before him, just the air he breathed down here, it all seemed to take a small toll on his head.

He sighed, bringing a hand up to his head and rubbing his temple. Luther took that hand and held it. Ray winced as his fingers rubbed into the burns. 

Luther noticed this and flipped the gambler’s palm up. “Will you stay?” he asked, almost suggestively.

Raymond didn’t like how… intimate… this was getting. He knew he could and should leave. But even if he wasn’t fearing his own sanity, he feared his life. Maybe this white man meant something else by, “I’ll be gone.” Like he’d only disappear from Raymond’s life by ensuring the  _ gambler _ was gone. Though that thought turned logic on its head, Ray believed it. He feared for his life. 

Raymond nodded once. This acceptance wasn’t out of compliance, it was out of fear.

Luther was grinning either way. He pulled something from his pocket: a small knife that he unfolded in one smooth flick of the wrist. The pocketknife was shimmering-grey but looked golden in the lighting, and it matched the look of the blonde’s seemingly silver eyes. He took the smooth blade to his own palm, splitting pale skin and leaking wine-red blood. Raymond was confused, not liking the situation at all, and hating it even more when Luther grabbed one of his burnt hands. Ray instinctively tried to pull back, but Luther held on tightly, the smile unchanging. He pocketed the knife.

“What are you doin`?” the gambler wasn’t impressed. 

That’s when the blonde pulled his hand away, blood smeared onto either of their palms. He grabbed the other hand. “Hurting?” he asked Ray.

Raymond blinked, confused. He looked at his blood-covered hand, not sure what he meant. But… he figured it out. His palm no longer stung with rope-burn, and as Luther let go of his other hand, neither did that one. The blonde was turning.

“Wh… Did you just…”

“You’re welcome,” he waved for Raymond to follow.

The gambler looked at his hands as he went, rubbing his palms with his thumbs; he almost ran into Luther with how mesmerized he was. The blonde handed him a rag. Ray cleaned his hands up the best he could and he caught a glimpse of Luther’s hand. No blood, no cut. It was clean.

“How did you do that?” Raymond caught his words.

Luther glanced at him. “That friend I was talking about earlier helps me.”

Ray blinked. “I… I still don’t know…”

“It’ll come together,” the blonde simply said.

...Which made Ray even more confused. And a bit frustrated all at once. “Listen,” he started, “Can… Can you just quit bein` so vague? Just start answerin` me directly. Is it so hard?”

Luther raised his eyebrows, amused, but said nothing.

Raymond waited for a response that never came. “...Luther?”

“Ray,” the blonde said, “Sit down.”

They were close to the same table as before, the book still open, a single chair accompanying the furnishing. He sighed sharply, pulling the chair out and taking a seat. Luther stood against the wall, the fingers of one of his hands grazing the tabletop unconsciously. Raymond leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, attempting to look austere and serious. But at the same time he was prodding his palms under the table, the smoothness without pain or fault mesmerizing him. 

“You want me to be blunt, right?”

The gambler nodded.

“Hm. Alright,” he straightened himself. “I’m a satanist. I want you. You’ve committed. You’re gonna start working my way now.”

Raymond found himself waiting again. When nothing came he mumbled, “That it?”

“You can ask questions,” Luther shrugged.

It took a lot of self-control not to hit his head on the table. He shook his head, thinking, thinking, thinking… “Sh-t…” he heaved quietly, “What d`you want me for? Why  _ me _ specifically?”

“I don’t want you to die.”

“Who said I’m dyin`?”

“The other gamblers you played against last night.”

Ray blinked. “...What?”

“Guess I’m done with being frank for now?”

“I—?” he choked on his words, “ _ I guess? _ ”

Luther mindlessly tapped the wall behind him. “I was half-lying last night when I told you I barely watched your game. I’d been hovering around the bar the entire time, waiting `til you’d get done.

“I don’t know if you caught any names, but the lead guy of that group, Robert Harris, saw you and hated you instantly.” Luther saw the confused look on Ray’s face. “You’re black with a tailored suit, that means you’re rich through some means or another. Then he asked around, figured out the reason why you had wealth was because you gambled. Him and his three other friends decided they were gonna take what you had. And they’d do it by cheating.”

“Cheatin`? Why would they…?” he never finished.

“I told you. You’re black and  _ were _ rich. They slipped in a few extra cards and covered each other so you wouldn’t know what they were doin`.

“Mr. Harris was trying to reel in a few more people to help cover, and he came over to me. Friendly guy on the surface, sure, but then he started runnin` his mouth and, damn, that was an immediate turn-off. 

“He said that if I helped him there’d be a few hundred bucks included, plus we run down a ‘lowlife.’ And I’m telling you what I said just so I’m honest with you: I laughed along with him and politely declined, then told him that I hoped he kicked your ass.”

Raymond squinted and frowned.

Luther reeled back, “Mr. Earnest, I’m on your side. But that’s how I play. And you should be glad I said that because if I hadn’t, his buddies would have dragged me out and beat me to a pulp. Declining an offer like that from a businessman with a tone in your voice only leads to immediate enemies. Had I not pretended to be as big of an asshat as him, then it would’ve been your head on the line.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean: after they played you and grabbed your cash, they wanted to make sure of a few things. One, that you were  _ completely _ broke. They left the bar, sure, but they were waiting for you outside—Harris and his buddies expected you to grab a drink and then head out. They’d strip you of whatever you had left out there.

“Two, they wanted to make sure you stayed at the bottom of the food chain. Not only would they rattle you, but they’d leave their mark. 

“Which… brings me right to point three. Raymond, they wanted you dead.”

The blonde’s words hit him like a train. “...I…” he shook his head, trying to string words together, “How do… you know?”

“One of his guys had a gun. They were planning on spraying your brain across the pavement.” He hissed, “‘ _ Gettin` rid of the minority _ ,’ they said.”

Raymond leaned back in his chair, his eyes fixed on the wall. He brought a hand to his face, rubbing his temple before taking his hat off. His heart had sunk to his stomach and the lump in his throat felt as if it could have ripped through the skin of his neck. A sinking feeling in his chest only caved more and more as the image of his own body sprawled on the pavement burned in his mind. Shattered skull, glassy eyes, a large black cavity in his head with thick, hot blood splattered onto the concrete and leaking into the cracks of the sidewalk. A long, scraggly, red line of the aftermath of the bullet would lead any passersby to the alley where his body lay, naked and rotting. And the worst part about it would be that nobody would care. No bystander would do anything more than see him and leave. Even if someone were to be so kind as to inform authorities, what would they do with his corpse? He’d just be an unmarked grave. His sister wouldn’t even know he was dead. She’d just think he was the sad excuse for a brother that he always knew he was, and that he’d never come home out of spite. But she wouldn’t even know the truth. She’d never know. Because nobody would care enough to tell her. Nobody would care enough to investigate. Nobody would care enough to even know his name. And his dead body would lie there, bloodshot eyes staring at the sky for a short time before the rats in the alleyways came and took them, his skin replaced with writing maggots and his blood dried up and black on the concrete.

The gambler hadn’t even realized Luther was right next to him with a hand on his arm until the blonde said his name. “Raymond.”

Ray blinked and looked him in the face. He strung it together almost immediately. “...That’s why you asked me to a game. To keep me inside.”

Luther nodded. “You alright?”

The gambler wasn’t exactly sure himself. “I…” he let a long sigh escape his lungs, “Uhm… Yeah,” he cleared his throat, “I mean… I’d either be here or be dead right now. And since I’m here… I guess that means I’m okay.”

Luther looked away, his brow lowered. “That’s one way to think of it.”

“That’s how I’m gonna do it…” he said quickly, trying to erase the image from his head. All this time in the city he’s only had to worry about brawls and insults… never death. Hell, he’s never had to worry about death his entire life. But now the possibility was screaming in his face. 

The blonde stepped away. “Take a minute if you need it.”

Ray refused to give himself much longer of a breather. He wanted more answers. He thought he might find comfort in knowledge. Even though that last bit of information certainly wasn’t reassuring in the slightest. “So… You didn’t want me to die. But if it was only that then why’d you bring me here? Surely there’s more to your story.”

Luther looked around the room. “It’s…” he tried to word it, “...I know as a satanist I have to recruit others to the cause. That’s how it is for every religion or business you can get into. I’ve been looking for someone for a while, you seemed to trust me enough, so here we are.”

“Just a timin` thing then, right?”

“Mhm.”

Raymond was slowly shaking off the shock. “I `spose… tell me `bout your cause. What’s it exactly you do?”

The blonde straightened himself, working up a speech. “Satanist work through revenge and getting even. None of this ‘forgive and forget’ business. That’s no way to live. Imagine being torn down by the world because of one flaw and having to live with insults and danger of your enemies. That’s exactly what we fight against. We fight against our weaknesses to become as strong as kings so we can have domain over our lives, not letting some theatrical force in the sky dictate us.”

Raymond frowned. “But… ain’t God’s goal to bring Christians to heaven after a life of sorrow?”

“Christians aren’t the ones I’m converting. I’m helping out the lost guys. Guys like you who need a lead, but all you know is blurry.

“And about what you said: ‘a life of sorrow.’ You know that it's God’s fault that anyone has to suffer.”

“What`d`you mean?”

“God created everything, didn’t he?” Luther queried. 

“Sure.”

“So that means he created sin.”

Raymond stopped for a second. “...No, Satan did.”

“Who created Satan?”

“God.”

“There you go.”

Ray shook his head, “I dunno `bout that.”

“Fine, think of it this way, then… God didn’t want sin and suffering to corrupt the world. But he let it happen.”

The gambler frowned. “But—”

“And if he’s almighty, then he has the power to take away sin at any time!”

Raymond opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came. 

“And yet he still keeps us here. All of us. His ‘children.’ Tch,” Luther curled his lip, “We’re nothing more than a theatre show for him. Just entertainment. The heroes of his story go up to Heaven, and the ones who he thinks are bad, the ones who make a change, they go suffer some more just so he can watch.”

It was quiet for a moment. Ray quickly strung some words together before Luther began speaking again. “Then that means I go to heaven and those other gamblers go to hell if they kill me. Because they’re the bad guys to God, right?”

Luther shook his head, smiling. “Not in the slightest, Ray.” He stepped away from the wall, beginning to pace. “They’ll go straight to Heaven, you know? Because they  _ do _ follow God. They take his words out of context and they use it to their advantage. Then they go through that lil` loophole every damn person’s got.” 

The way he spoke made Raymond feel like he should have known what he was talking about. But… “What loophole?”

The blonde’s head spun around to stare at Ray, a tang of wretchedness in his eyes. “Repentance,” Luther said softly.

The gambler sat quietly.

“ _ Repentance _ ,” Luther echoed, “Do you know what  _ that _ is?”

Ray nodded.

“It’s a goddamn loophole, isn’t it?” There was this flare in his eyes, this unmistakable annoyance—no,  _ anger _ . “Mr. Harris and his buddies don’t feel remorse. They know they’re safe. Safe from the fires that burn weak sinners, safe from the torture they could never handle,” his voice was calm but it just made the situation feel more uncomfortable, “Because they’ll kill you. They’ll kill you and they’ll laugh and they’ll forget. If they would’ve killed you yesterday, sure, maybe you would’ve gone to Heaven. Maybe Purgatory. Maybe Hell. Who knows! You were questioning your faith, God would’ve just flipped a coin!” his voice raised and his hands began to fly about, making gestures as he spoke. “And maybe you would’ve gone to Heaven yesterday. So what if you did? You think your mama would wanna see you? After what you did? You think your daddy would even know what you look like?”

Raymond leaned back in his chair, tense and upright.

“And what happens when those murderers die? You’re only hope for any sort of payback is that they’d have a painful death because as soon as they die, all they’ll do is clasp their little hands together and fall to their knees.” Luther held his hands at his chest, looking up at the ceiling in an act. “‘ _ What do you mean we’ve sinned? Wait, the gambler? Oh, Lord! Forgive us! We didn’t know it was wrong to kill another human being! He was only a black man! He wasn’t worth much! _ ’” he mimicked, taking his hands away from each other, “And then God will wave them through and you’ll have to look at their pompous faces for all of eternity. They’ll smile and be jolly and you’ll  _ remember what they did _ .” Luther walked right up to Ray, leaning over him. “Suddenly, you’re the bad guy who still has hatred in his heart because they  _ so easily  _ made it through the gates that your mama worked her  _ entire _ life for,” he was right in the gambler’s face. “...and you think Heaven is for the holy?”

Raymond stared back at him, a cold sweat on his brow.

“Heaven is for the weak. It’s for the pricks, the bastards, the pimps, and prostitutes. God is their own lil’ sugar daddy that they get happiness and forgiveness from. They make excuses for their sins…” he stood straight, “...While Satan roots for folks like us. Folks who know they can be strong, folks who want to change the world without the shackles of society or religion holding us back. We want to clear out the  _ real _ minority, the plague in our pool of human bodies. We want to destroy those very same pricks and bastards and show them that we aren’t about to take their sh-t anymore! We turn the weak to the strong, the poor to kings, the damned to gods!” he shouted, then calmed himself. “...And we aren’t afraid to step on the heads of anyone who tries to kick us down…”

And then, he was done. 

Raymond sat in fear, hearing him, listening to him. He did his best to keep up through the shock and apprehensiveness, but ultimately, he leaned towards his side of the argument. He believed Luther, just a bit. There was no way he trusted him, and the gambler still wanted to be very far away from this place, but… he did see the blonde’s point. Sort of. There was still this one issue.

Luther leaned back against the wall, sighing heavily. 

“What about…” Ray peeped, then cleared his throat. “...what `bout when  _ we _ die? We burn in hell?”

The blonde was still cooling off when he asked. He didn’t look at Raymond and went back to tapping the wall. “We’re favored. We won’t have to deal with petty things like burning and torture. We’ll have power. Climb the ranks of Hell. Get close with the Devil.  _ We’ll _ be the gods.”

“How do you know?”

Luther’s eyes pierced into him. “He told me.”

“...Who?”

“Lucifer.”

Ray sighed through his nose. “He told you, huh?”

“Do you need convincing?”

Raymond ignored the question, “Even if he  _ did _ say that to you, it's the Devil, ain’t it? He tricks people all the time, don’t he? That’s what happened to Adam and Eve.”

Luther seemed offended. “That snake didn’t lie to them. That snake promised that if they ate that fruit then they’d be powerful. They’d be like God,” he crossed his arms, “But they were scared. They betrayed their creator, and then chickened out of their glory.”

Raymond didn’t look at him. He  _ almost _ bought it.

“Do you need convincing?” Luther repeated.

Ray didn’t answer.

“What about what I did with your hands? Is that not convincing?”

“I—! I dunno…!”

“Do you need convincing?” he was like a broken record.

“I mean—”

“ _ Do you need convincing? _ ” Luther’s voice hissed through the air. 

They looked right at each other. The blonde’s eyes were sharp while the gambler’s were wide. Thoughts buzzed through his mind. Questions—silent—were swatted through the air. 

Ray opened his mouth, “Listen… I ain’t doubtin` that you wanna help me… But look at this my way. With all this Devil talk and… and things about my personal life! What if I was talkin` that way `bout your mama? Or `bout dyin`? Wouldn't this seem all too crazy to you?” he was forcing his tone immensely. He wasn’t angry about this at all, just very confused and honestly frightened. Jesus, there were so many things he questioned throughout his time with Luther… 

The blonde was giving him no word. Just that cold stare. Raymond could hear the question without it being asked.  _ Do you need convincing? _

The gambler prodded his palms, silent. He leaned forward in his chair slightly, putting his hat in his lap. “...Yes.”

Luther pushed off the wall. “What do you want to see?”

Raymond thought for a moment until he couldn’t come up with something better than, “Anythin`.”

“Alright,” the satanist raised his chin, “Tomorrow I’m taking you to the outskirts of town. We’ll pick a few tourists and give them enough of a conversation.”

That wasn’t exactly what Ray thought he’d say. “What?” he cocked his head to the side, “Can’t you do something now?”

“I can. But all the things I  _ can _ do are as small as the healing thing—which apparently just isn’t enough for you,” he wandered around the chair, “And I could do one  _ other _ thing, but…” he pat Ray’s head, and the gambler responded by pulling away from him, “...You aren’t ready for that, yet.”

Raymond was curious enough to ask but didn’t bother with it. He’d probably be dodged, and he was too burnt out to take the confusion anymore.

“For now, though, let’s head out,” Luther suggested, “If we get there too late the doors will be locked.”

Ray turned in his chair, standing. “Where are we goin`?”

“That rent house I’m staying at.” The blonde was walking to the ladder.

Raymond fixed his hat onto his head and gave the room one last look. He peered at the book, still open on the table, still alive with crude drawings. Some instinct told him to close it…

The gambler reached for the cover and folded it over the pages.

He turned to Luther, who was at the ladder waiting for him. Ray followed him over without a word, just trying to figure stuff out on his own for a second. Compiling a few more things he didn’t understand.

When Raymond put his hands and feet on the bars, the room behind him went black. Glancing over his shoulder to see brought him nothing but pure darkness. He couldn’t even see his own two hands inches from his face; he didn’t dare let go of the bars. 

Luther climbed up and opened the hatch, heaving it over completely until the other side of the lid landed harshly onto the grass. The moonlight brought enough vision back to Ray so the hairs on his neck weren’t standing on end. They made it out and Luther heaved the lid back over, closing the hole. It just seemed to disappear into the ground, even while the gambler watched it. 

“C`mon, let’s try to hurry,” the blonde said casually, meandering over to the wall. Ray followed silently.

Luther grabbed the rope that led up the building, giving it a tug before he started climbing. Raymond watched, knowing it’d probably be difficult for him. After his satanist acquaintance was on the roof, he took his turn.

Within time they’d both made it up and over the wall, storing the rope away and exiting the alley. “The house is a few blocks from here, and I’m not seeing many horses this time of night. You mind walking?”

Ray shook his head, frustrated. 

Luther only grinned. 

They made their way through the city, the still swarm of locusts singing and their shoes on the pavement were the only noises to be heard. It was calm and peaceful out in the world, but all Raymond was hearing were a million inaudible questions. How could he even ask half of these things? 

After a bit, the blonde realized just how flustered the gambler was. “Raymond,” he cooed, “You’re quiet. What’re you thinking about?”

“Ain’t we not allowed to talk `bout it in public?”

“When did I ever say that?” Luther tilted his head, “Besides, you see anyone out here?”

Ray shrugged. 

“You can speak your mind, Ray. Just keep it discreet around other people.”

Raymond puffed his chest out. “I…” he sighed, “Why the hell’d we even go down there? What was with the candles? The book? I’m just so confused, none of this is makin` a lick of sense.”

“That’s a completely normal response,” Luther assured him, “Hell, I’d be more scared if you just accepted it all.”

“I want to!”

“Shh~” he smirked, “Don’t want nobody waking up.”

Ray shoved his hands in his pockets.

“I’ll tell you all that. That book isn’t hardly anything. Just a gift I got from Greece.”

Raymond blinked, “Greece?” he awed, “You’ve been overseas?”

“Mhm,” Luther nodded, “Another one of our guys was there. We did a collaboration to convert a politician. When we parted ways he gave me that book.”

“...Well, what’s it for?”

“Just things. You’ll probably use it once you get into the swing of things.”

That didn’t answer anything, just gave the gambler more questions. But Luther kept going, “And those candles. I’ve been practicing with this stuff for years. I can do a bunch of little stuff. Lighting the candles is just one perk.”

“...Does the Devil let you do that?”

Luther shrugged. “Sort of. And remember, be discreet in public.”

“But there ain’t any—”

“—people, I know. Let’s just practice,” Luther nudged him, “Refer to him as ‘our friend’ from now on. Okay?”

“...Sure.”

“Anyhow… No, personally, he’s not responsible for that place or anything I do in it. But an… acquaintance of his is. Which brings me to why I took you there in the first place.

“I’ve got a patron. If I’m ever interested in anyone, I need to bring them to a reference point as soon as possible for her to look them over. Make sure their cut for the job.”

Raymond lowered his brow. “There was a woman in there?” His mind only showed him the image of the door that had never been opened. Was she in there?

“Not a woman like you and I know.”

“ _ Would you _ —” he stopped himself before he got too loud, “Just… Stop speaking in riddles already… Please?”

“Where’s the fun in a conversation, then?” the blonde sneered, “But, since you asked so nicely~

“That patron of mine isn’t a mortal lady—she’s exactly what you think she is. And she wasn’t actually there, though it may have seemed like it. Lemme ask you, did you ever feel compelled to stay? Or do something innocuous?”

Of course he had. He wanted to leave but didn’t, and he remembered closing that book. He hadn’t answered, but it seemed Luther already knew the answer.

“That was her. She was seeing how you’d react to her. Seeing if you trusted her.”

“It… didn’t feel like nobody was tellin` me to do anythin`.”

“Right,” Luther smiled, “Because no one was. It was just a sinking feeling, wasn’t it? Crept into your brain and gave you subtle suggestions. Beings like that work at higher powers than we do, Raymond. When we die we’ll understand it better. Hell, the more you go down there, the more you’ll understand it.”

The gambler was highly uncomfortable. 

“It’s a good thing, though! You can understand that much, can’t you? She’s already taken a liking to you.”

Ray didn’t respond.

Luther sighed, “Listen. I know it’s weird and a lil` scary. Especially since you were just thrown into this,” a pause, “But that’s the only way to do it.  _ I’ve _ done it.  _ Alone _ .” He patted Raymond on the back, “Be happy you’ve got someone showing you the ropes.”

That’s really all the gambler could be glad over.


	3. Settle Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isaiah 32:18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dont have much to say enjoy the chapter ;)

Midnight, right as the skinny moon hit its peak, the two made it to the rent house. It was at the end of a small subdivision, a rather large home with what looked like two stories plus an attic. Most homes down this way were large, housed by richer folk who could afford them. 

Luther stepped up the stone stairs and Ray hung behind, taking in the area. Clouds that did not seem to be there until they covered the stars swelled in the sky. They could already feel the moisture in the air from the rain that was rushing over the fields, though it hadn’t touched them yet. The mosquitos, though, had. Raymond was constantly swatting at his face and ears when the buzzing came close, and couldn’t wait to get inside. That is, if he was allowed in.

The satanist tried the handle, not knocking, and the door opened. Small golden lights from candles came from within the home. “Nana Clark!” he called.

A small, frail voice called in response. “Oh! Luthy!”

The blonde looked over his shoulder and gestured for Ray to come. The gambler went up the stairs and stepped inside the home, sticking right on the heels of Luther as he closed the door.

Inside it smelled… old. Old perfume, old wood, old junk. Like you’d imagine a grandparent’s house to smell. The furnishing was middle-class, very clean, intricate designs of cream and bronze. The wallpaper repeated patterns of swirls, paintings of landscapes and portraits hanging here and there, and a few oil lamps were lit. They were in the living room, a rug beneath their shoes, a fireplace sat directly across from the couch. The windows were closed and the curtains shut. Across the room from the door was a flight of stairs that hardly creaked as a tiny, tiny lady made her way down. She was old, very old, and shaped like a gourd—small head, round body. She wore a white nightgown and round spectacles, her silver hair short and curly, dots and moles from old age covering her crepe-like skin. Her slippers hit the floor and she waddled over. “Luthy, I didn’t think you’d ever get here! I was about to lock the door!”

Luther leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “Sorry about that. I made a friend and we were doing some business.”

The old woman looked up at Raymond. “Goodness gracious, you’ll need to stop having such tall friends.” 

Ray smiled. “Hello,” he greeted, “I’m Raymond Earnest,” he made the gesture for a handshake. 

She tugged on his hand and held it gently, her old bones immensely fragile. “Margaret Clark,” she smiled. 

“Nana,” Luther put a hand on her shoulder, “I was wondering if you’d let him stay here. We’re gonna be working together for a while if all goes well. He can stay in my room, I’ll pay for his stay.”

“Oh, please!” Mrs. Clark shuffled away from him, and Raymond expected the worst. “Don’t make him stay in your room! That bed’s too small for the both of you and I don’t want him on the floor. He’ll stay on the couch, you boys can help carry blankets down for Mr. Earnest. And pay for half. I don’t need you going broke because of me.”

“Nana, I can’t agree with half. Let me pay full!” he was so bright and cheerful with the old lady. 

“Keep bartering me and I’ll stuff you so full with my cooking that you won’t be able to reach for your wallet!” she playfully warned. 

Luther sighed. “You’re the boss.”

The old lady began to shuffle away. “Take off your shoes, boys. Mr. Earnest, you can hang your coat and hat on that rack just next to the door. Come back with me to the kitchen, we’ll chat for a bit.” She then stopped, “Oh! Unless if you’re both too tired. I know it’s late…”

Raymond and Luther both shared a look, then both shook their heads. “No, we can have a sit for a second,” the blonde said. 

“Lovely,” she scooted along.

Luther was kicking his shoes off and Raymond did the same. He saw the coat rack and unbuttoned his suit, pulling it off and hanging it, along with his hat. He swept a hand over his hair and flattened it down, then followed after Luther, who followed Margaret. 

“Are you two good friends, then?” she asked as they entered the doorframe, just next to the stairs.

“Yeah, we’ve hit it off,” Luther insisted. 

“Well then, Mr. Earnest,” she addressed, and he gave her his attention, “Call me Nana.”

Raymond nodded, feeling comfortable. 

The kitchen was quite large, lots of room for… cooking… Ray didn’t cook or bake, didn’t know how to, and didn’t really know anything of it. He was able to recognize the impressiveness, though, and knew that all of the countertops and appliances must be useful for one thing or another. To the left of the kitchen was the dining room in its own little world, a circular table with six cushioned chairs around it, a vase in the center, closed white flowers standing in the pottery. Luther pulled Ray over to the table.

As the three of them sat down, Nana asked, “What is it that’s keeping you two out so late?”

Luther was next to Raymond, who was feeling welcome enough to contribute to a conversation. “We were at the underground—”

Suddenly, Luther had ahold of Ray’s hand under the table. And he was squeezing it  _ tight _ . The gambler could feel the bones of the other’s fingers between his own, very tense. He tripped on his words. “Uhm… No, what am I sayin`?” Ray fake-laughed it off, “The bar close to the outskirts of town.”

“The one that’s open all night?”

“Mhm.” 

“We were trying to clean up a few deals with some potential business partners,” Luther pitched, letting go of Ray’s hand, “Some new works for farming equipment. I don’t think it’ll go anywhere with them, though.”

“You’re so sure?” Nana was truly sympathetic, and truly bought it, “But you’re so inventive! How could they turn you down?”

“There was never really a settlement to begin with. Just some ideas being thrown around. Ray, actually, almost roped them in,” Luther waved to his friend, and his friend felt very nervous about potentially messing up the lie, “but then I had to open my big mouth and I think I just bored them to death.”

“Nonsense! Not with the way you talk,” Nana insisted.

The blonde shrugged.

“Where does Mr. Earnest come into all this? How’d you two meet?”

“Oh, uhm,” Ray cleared his throat, “I met him the night before last. I’m from down south. I, uh… was comin` up here to try to get me some cash on a horseshoe, somethin` that’s `sposed to, uh… dig lil’ holes in the ground as the horses move.”

Luther nodded, “Then the plow shakes the seed into the holes so the farmers don’t have to go over the field twice and waste their time,” he added.

And, while sympathetic, it was clear that Nana didn’t actually have any interest in the subject. Which was completely fine, that meant she wouldn’t ask questions. She nodded, then switched the subject, “You’re from the south?” she looked at Ray, “Well, I should’ve guessed with your pretty accent.”

Raymond couldn’t help but smile. He’s never been complimented this much before except by his own mother. 

“How’s it down there?”

“Hot,” Raymond said, “Lots nicer up here.”

“You don’t like the heat?”

Ray shook his head, “No, ma’am.”

“Well, you and Luther are just the opposite, aren’t you? He’s from up north and just hates the cold.”

“We can meet at a happy medium,” Luther spoke simply, “But, Nana, what were you doing up so late? I expected you to be asleep by now.”

“Oh, Jack left for his summer trip again. I always stay up as late as I can the first night he’s gone, in case he forgot something,” she answered.

“Jack?” Ray asked.

“He’s my husband,” Nana answered, “Stubborn bastard, but I love him to pieces.”

“So, that’s your grandpa, then?” the gambler asked Luther.

He and the old lady sort of laughed. “No, we’re not related,” the blonde said.

“I don’t have no grandkids,” Nana said, “So all my young friends make up for it and call me ‘Nana.’”

“Oh,” Raymond shook it off.

“What’s Jack doing?” Luther asked, “Just seeing family again?”

“Yes, family and old friends.”

“Why ain’t you goin`?” Ray asked.

“Someone’s got to stay home and watch the house when Luthy’s gone,” she grinned to him, “Besides, Jack’s a few years younger than me, so he can make the trip. I’d be rattling like a bag of rocks if I rode that carriage clear east.”

“Nana!” Luther touched her hand, “Don’t talk like that, you look beautiful~”

She pinched his skin, “I never said I didn’t look beautiful!”

Raymond laughed at her sassiness, enjoying her company. 

“Mr. Earnest, I hope you turn out to be much better than what Luthy is,” she pinched the blonde’s cheek, and he let her. 

“I’ll try my best,” Ray said.

“When’d you get into town?” Nana asked. 

“Just a week.”

“You haven’t had any problems, have you?”

“Eh,” Ray kept it discreet, as Luther told him, “Just a few rotten mouths here and there.”

She sighed, “Don’t let no man make you feel bad, honey. If you ever get into trouble, just tell `em that Nana Clark’s gonna give them a real beating!”

Raymond laughed, “I know  _ I’d _ be scared if someone told me that.”

They sat for a few minutes longer, just pointless small talk. Nana had offered them food but they both said they’d wait for morning to eat. Then they all left the kitchen, locked up the house, and headed upstairs. Nana Clark went to her room and told the two to get some rest, and that the blankets were in the attic. Luther and Ray pointlessly shared the easy work and Raymond got settled on the couch.

“She’s very nice,” Ray spoke quietly.

“Isn’t she?” Luther shared his soft tone. “Listen,” he started, “From now on, just go along with our little story and whatever else I throw in. She doesn’t know what I actually do. What  _ we _ actually do. And I want to keep it that way.”

The gambler nodded. 

“Good job tonight, Ray. If you need anything, I’m upstairs, all the way down the hall, door on the right.”

Raymond nodded, and Luther walked off.

The fireplace was not lit and had not been lit the entire night. The oil lamp didn’t crackle. The wind hadn’t picked up. The house hardly creaked. It was very quiet, and Ray didn’t always like that. Especially after all the events of today. It was silly to him, but he was almost afraid to blow the lamp out. Because once he did, he would be blind and deaf. He wouldn’t know if the gamblers were creeping and aiming their guns at him. He wouldn’t know about the demon that hugged his midsection as he slept, pretending to be the blankets draping over him. He wouldn’t know how to comprehend that silent whisper that could have possibly followed him from the underground room.

He forced himself to turn the wick down, cup his hand over the opening in the glass, and blow the lamp out.

Silence…

Raymond laid down, face toward the back of the couch, ensuring that he would see nothing. Even though he wanted to know if anything was in the room with him, it seemed more reasonable to be blind by his own will than to look into the black room and not be able to do anything about the darkness. He grazed his thumbs back and forth over the covers, making the smallest noise for his ears to handle, but it wasn’t enough to keep the paranoia away. His eyes were wide, trying to see, but nothing was gifted to them.

Then, the rain came. The soft thumping against the walls of the house filled the room with noise. Enough noise to allow relaxation.

Raymond Earnest drifted to sleep. No danger caught him here.

  
  


* * *

  
  


He was dashing across the field next to the creek, chasing a friend. A little boy like himself ran from him, laughing, tripping over the clods but managing to stay up. The sun beat down on them, sweat beads covering their faces, but it didn’t bother them. Not enough to stop.

“Raymond!” he heard his mother's voice from afar.

He turned to look over the field, the infinite miles of field, golden grass cooking in the sun. 

“Raymond!”

The mud squished between his toes. He searched for the other boy, knowing it was time to head home.

The boy was nowhere to be found.

“Raymond!”

  
  


* * *

“Raymond~”

The gambler woke with a start, eyes flashing open and his shoulders tense. He found the blonde satanist standing over him, a smile on his face, snickering. “You up?”

Ray sat up on the couch, the room bright with sun. The curtains were open and light was easily invading the room. He rubbed his face, giving a groggy, “Yup…” The smell of something homey, something cooking, filling his nose.

Luther stepped back, “You slept like a rock.”

“What time is it?”

“`Round lunch.”

“Really?”

“Mhm,” he hovered around the couch, “C`mon, Nana’s got food for us.”

Ah, that’s what he smelled. He pushed the covers off of him, shaking away the dream from his memory the best he could. He stood, threw his arms over his head, and stretched out. 

After waking up a bit, he met the other two in the kitchen. Luther was helping Nana take something from the oven, something that smelled delicious. Peering around them he saw that Luther had just placed a steaming pie on the counter, a flowering mark in the center, perfectly made. As if on command, his stomach immediately grumbled.

“There he is,” the old lady greeted. She was dressed in a green dress, yellow flowers embroidered into the trim and sleeves. She had the same glasses from yesterday, and her hair was combed back into a very small bun. “Good morning~”

“Good morning,” Raymond responded.

“Sit down, we’re just about to eat.”

So, he did.

Being here seemed like the best thing that’s happened to him since he arrived in miserable Las Vegas. Even winning all that money wasn’t as good as this. He felt very comfortable here, it reminded him of his own home down south. Of course, not nearly as big or updated as this one, but the serenity of the layout and company of Nana Clark made him feel like he was well-liked. It was hardly anything serious, he knew, but if he had to guess, it would probably be something that would keep him content for a while.

The others sat and they cut the pie, and Raymond enjoyed it entirely. Nana was going on and on about how much fun she had when she was younger and how she met Jack, just stories that Luther had heard before but still made him smile, and Ray too. There were some lies that had to be thrown in here and there, like, “I’ve been fairly rich my whole life,” and, “My sister and I get along fine,” just things he’d say in case he was ever to get in trouble. Even though he already liked Nana a lot, she didn’t  _ know _ about them. Plus, he wasn’t ready to spill his story to a lady he just met. He wasn’t even ready for Luther—but with how that guy talked to him, it seemed like he already knew the entire story. Overall, though, he was enjoying himself. 

After they ate Nana asked if she could see Ray’s coat and hat, wondering where he got it tailored. He explained it and brought the other half of the suit to her, and she almost immediately noticed the hole in the back of the sleeve. He’d completely forgotten about that. 

“Well, don’t worry about it. I can sew it up in just a couple of minutes, if you two don’t have to leave soon?”

“We’re free today,” Luther said, “We’ll probably just walk around town, seeing if anyone wants to pitch with us.”

“Mr. Earnest,” she started.

But the gambler cut her off. “Please, Nana Clark, just call me Raymond. That’s soundin` entirely too professional for me.”

“Well, you look entirely too professional!” she teased, “But alright. Raymond, do you mind if I patch this up for you?”

“Not at all,” he said, “That’d be a real favor.”

“I’ll just be a minute. Luther, how about you show him around a bit before you go?”

“Sure, Nana,” he agreed, and gesture to Ray.

They walked around the house and toured. There were a lot of rooms; the kitchen, living room, dining room, and laundry room leading to the backyard were on the first floor. Upstairs were more private rooms; Nana’s bedroom and closet, the rent room that Luther had, a room dedicated just to look pretty for any gatherings, and a lounge with a large piano. It was all closed up and collected dust, clearly not used for a while. 

“You know how to play?” Luther asked.

“No, sir,” he ran his finger over the dusty top, making a shiny, black line, “I don’t think I’ve actually seen a piano `fore now.”

“Well, here it is~” Luther said, “Nana doesn’t play, but Jack does. Real pretty. He’s gone, though, so you won’t get to hear it for a few weeks.”

“That’s alright.”

The blonde elbowed him suddenly, “She  _ really _ likes you…” he whispered, “Says you’re very polite and cute~”

Raymond was smiling big. “Nana’s so sweet. I ain’t got to thinkin` anyone here would be nearly that friendly.”

Luther brought a hand to his chest in a fake gasp. “What about me?”

Ray grabbed the back of his neck, “That ain’t what I meant—” he chuckled. 

“I’m just screwing with you,” Luther assured him. He stepped closer to the gambler and reached out, touching the collar of his shirt and flipping it up. “Hm.”

“No,” Ray said, “I ain’t gonna like it like that.”

“Just look in a mirror! You might,” the blonde tried.

Raymond shook his head. “No, sir. You keep yours up, I’ll keep mine down,” he flipped the collar back to normal.

“Bet you’d look great with the collar up~”

Ray didn’t dare say it, but he thought Luther looked ridiculous with that collar of his. 

Shortly after, Nana called them down, and right as Raymond was mistaking this place as home, it was time to leave.

“We’ll be back tonight,” Luther told her after they put their shoes on, “Just leave the doors unlocked, we’ll close up if we’re late.”

Raymond was buttoning up, getting ready to go. “Thanks for lettin` me stay,” he said.

“Anytime!” she exclaimed, “You’re always welcome here.”

He then nodded to Luther, “And thanks for payin`.”

Luther nodded back, then looked at Nana. “Speaking of which, rent’s due next week, right?”

“Mhm, Monday.”

“Perfect,” he kissed the top of her head, “See you in a bit.”

“Do good, boys,” she waved them off. 

Well, not before getting on Ray’s tail. He was turning out the door when she scolded, “Mr. Earnest! Don’t leave me without a kiss!”

“Oh,” he twisted back around, “Sorry.” He put a hand on her shoulder and kissed the top of her head, getting a large whiff of her extravagant perfume, then followed Luther out the door. 

They made their way down the sidewalk of the subdivision. It had stopped raining, but the clouds still lingered and the humidity was horrible. Raymond noticed Luther immediately beginning to sweat, and with his heavy coat, Ray was too. The miserable warmth didn’t stop a few kids from running about and having fun, though. Childish screams and laughter glittered the air as they threw mud at each other in their yards and chased each other around. 

“Where we headed, again?” Raymond asked.

“Edge of town, by the main road that everyone comes and leaves through,” Luther answered.

Ray kept to himself and made a mental map on how to get to the main road just so he wasn’t following Luther blindly. Then he began to wonder what he  _ really _ meant by ‘Do you need convincing?’ He wasn’t quite worried about his physical safety at this point. Didn’t seem likely Luther would actually do anything like that. 

  
  


* * *

It took a bit of a walk to get to the center of town, then follow the road out of the city. Raymond remembered coming here on a horse carriage, using the last of his savings to catch a ride. He’d been dressed in old clothes that day, itchy and dirty from the travel. The back of his neck had been severely sunburnt and his hair was unkempt, but he supposed it turned out alright as of now. 

Luther dragged him away from the road quite a distance, up a hill a few hundred yards from the street. Raymond wasn’t asking questions, he just assumed that they weren’t quite there yet. Maybe another underground room? Maybe an old house out of city limits?

But it wasn’t either of those. When they reached the top of the hill the blonde had purposely collapsed onto the ground, sighing into the heat. “We’re here,” he said, on his back with his arms and legs sprawled out.

Raymond gave him a side-glance, looking around. There wasn’t much. A few trees hugged the top of the hill around them, and past the hills were fields of grass. Then you had the city and the road a short distance away. But… not a whole lot else. He thought he was missing something. “We are?” Ray asked.

“Yup. Lay down.”

Raymond raised his brow, confused again. Luther had rolled over onto his stomach, feet down the opposite slope of the hill, peering over the grass at the road. Ray did the same, surprised to find that the ground wasn’t wet or even soft here. 

There were plenty of carriages entering and leaving the city, just seeming to be tiny dots and boxes moving slowly on a strip from this far away.

“See that carriage coming into the city? The roofed one, with two horses?” Luther asked, and Ray nodded, finding it. “Watch it.”

So, Raymond did. 

Nothing happened at first. Nothing that the gambler noticed, at least, and he tried to pick anything out of the ordinary. Of course, that was difficult being that he didn’t know what he was looking for. However, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a shadow. No… not a shadow… A mass. A writhing, squirming, small mass of blackness, coiling around Luther’s fingers, like gravity-defying tar. Before Ray could even register what in the world was around his hand, the blonde flicked his finger up, the mass disappeared into the air, and Raymond’s eyes were drawn back to the road. 

The hooded cart bounced harshly. It was as if something exploded under it, or it had run over something quite large, but the road was flat. The couple of horses bucked but stayed standing, and the cart didn’t fall over, but all four wheels definitely lifted from the ground a foot or two. It landed back on the ground and jostled, the coachman hopping off and checking around for anything he hit. A few individuals had jumped from the back, and others traveling to and from the city that weren’t affected stopped.

“What was that…?” Raymond asked.

“Wait for it,” Luther whispered, then flicked his fingers again.

The carriage was then knocked over, twisting, knocking the horses over and spilling boxes and supplies from the back. A few surprised screams came from the road, sounding like nothing more than distant squeaks from this distance. Raymond pushed against the ground, sitting up. “What—”

Luther tackled him back to the ground, “ _ Stay down…! _ ” he hissed, practically laying on top of Ray, pushing the gambler’s chin in the dirt.

“What the hell just happened?” 

“The cart flipped.”

“How?”

“Me.”

“You—Dammit, I know  _ you _ did it! But how?” Raymond cursed, trying to push Luther off.

“My friend, Raymond,” he cupped the gambler’s head with both hands, jostling him around, “Use that big brain of yours~”

Ray, frustrated, flipped over and kicked Luther off. The blonde was on his back, hardly hurt or baffled. “Would you quit talkin` to me like I’m a kid?” Raymond was standing, “How did you do that? You probably hurt some—!”

Luther dove for Ray’s legs, cutting him short of his scolding. The gambler fell backward hard, his back hitting the ground, and realized they were too far downhill to stop. The both of them were tumbling down.

They lost each other somewhere near the bottom of the hill, Raymond quickly recollecting himself after hitting his head multiple times and becoming disoriented. He was rightfully pissed off, now, hat gone, grass stains and mud all over his suit, jumbled altogether. “What is wrong with you?” he swore at Luther, standing. 

Luther was sitting up, dark stains on his white shirt. “I told you to stay down!” he retorted, but his tone and expression warranted that he didn’t quite care enough to be mad. “What if someone saw us after that? They’d think we planted dynamite on the road.”

“Might as well have,” Raymond growled, “You can’t just do that to people! ...Whatever the hell you did.”

“Nonono,” Luther stood, “Wasn’t even close to dynamite. Could’ve been a lot worse than it!” he was clearly just trying to step on Ray’s tail, now.

And it was working. “You coulda killed somebody!”

The blonde was smirking. “Could’ve! But I didn’t~”

The gambler didn’t hesitate. He drew back and threw a punch, right for the jaw. He expected to feel knuckle against skin in less than a second, but—to his everlasting surprise—it didn’t turn out that way. 

Luther still stood there, grinning, relaxed. He didn’t have a care in the world what Raymond was doing—because he was at the satanist’s feet. For the gambler it felt like someone had just grabbed his arm and yanked it as hard as they could downward, but the blonde hadn’t moved an inch and there was nobody else around. It caused Ray to lose his balance and fall to the ground, now looking up at Luther’s smiling face.

“Nice try,” the satanist shrugged, “But that won’t work for me.” He lightly tapped Ray’s temple with the toe of his shoe.

Raymond wanted to move but could not. Not because of any external force, simply because his head was far too busy spinning with a hive of buzzing questions than to be bothered with telling his legs to work. His wide eyes stared into Luther, nearly through him, and yet with all this confusion he couldn’t manage to form a single question.

The blonde leaned over, lending a hand to the gambler. Raymond hesitated before taking it, subconsciously letting the satanist pull him to his feet. When he was standing, Luther firmly grasped both of Ray’s shoulders, staring him in the face. “Look…” the blonde began, his expression never lapsing, but his tone becoming serious, “If you and I are gonna be a thing then we should set some ground rules.”

Ray stared at him.

“One: don’t doubt me. In any way. You’re not gonna be thinking that I’m incompetent, stupid, or crazy. I know what I’m doing.

“Two: don’t test me. Don’t fight me. I can do so many things you wouldn’t even guess would be possible. I can wreck your life. I can do you worse than those gamblers ever could.”

Raymond was regretting a few things.

“Three: you’re better off if I’m your friend. And that’s what I intend to be. What I want to be,” he smiled and touched Ray’s nose with the tip of his finger, “So don’t worry about me. Don’t be scared of me or what I do. Don’t feel bad for any trouble I might get into, that’s my problem. I’ll tell you if you need to be concerned about anything.” He took his hands away. 

The gambler was standing there, feeling dumb. He looked down at his feet, at the stains on his knees, just at the ground. Anything to not look at Luther. 

The blonde stepped away, hardly far, and picked something up. Raymond looked up and saw his hat in the other’s hands, and the satanist plopped it onto the gambler’s head. “C`mon, don’t look like that,” he cooed, “Lemme clean you up.”

Luther took Raymond’s arm and roughly wiped his sleeve in the dirty spots. The damp mud had turned dry in an instant and was dusted off in clouds. Ray was… almost understanding it. Luther seemed to have some sort of manipulation of the world. Thanks to their patron? He still didn’t understand how it was physically possible—if it even was. Maybe it was all a trick of the eye.

The blonde hit his shoulders and knees, everywhere that stains were present, until he looked decent. Then the satanist did the same to himself. 

“Luther?” Raymond asked, “Was anyone hurt?”

“Mm,” Luther hummed, “Looked like a cargo carriage. The only people who might have been in the back jumped out.”

“Did you know it was a cargo carriage before, uh…” he searched for the right words, “...pushin` it over?”

“No. But it’s not like anybody would have died if it  _ was _ full of people.”

Raymond frowned, not liking that answer. He could have guessed that nobody would have died—if anyone was in pain, that was his concern. But he had this instinct that arguing wouldn’t do any good. It wouldn’t change anything. He asked a different question, “Why’d you do it? What was the point of that?”

“You wanted convincing.”

“Yeah, but…” Raymond shrugged, “I get it that you can change some stuff `bout the world. Why is pushin` a cart specifically what I needed to see?”

Luther shrugged. “I’m just trying to send the message a little clearer. I don’t know what you need to see, so I’m trying everything.”

“Well, what is it that sata—er…  _ you guys _ do?”

“You tell me.”

Ray blinked. “Uhm… Sacrifices are a big thing, ain’t they?”

“Ooh! Haven’t done that in a hot spell~”

_ Oh no. _

Luther’s eyes went to the trees that were around. “Bet you I could snag a bird.”

“I’m not challengin` you to do anythin`,” Ray sighed. 

“Oh, what am I saying?” Luther suddenly went, “You gotta do it.”

Raymond was shaking his head immediately, “No, I don’t wanna kill nothin`.”

“We’re not killing it  _ yet _ . We just gotta catch one.”

“How do you expect me to catch a bird?”

“I’ll help you!”

Ray rubbed his temple, “Why do we need a bird?”

“Why do satanists need to sacrifice?”

“I dunno!”

The blonde laughed. “New guys gotta bring their patrons animals if they wanna see them. The bigger the animal, the longer they stay. I’m thinking once you see her, you’ll believe all my bullsh-tery completely.”

“I didn’t… say you were full of sh-t.”

“I know, but you think it.”

“I—”

“Sh,” Luther waved him off, “Enough talking. Look for a bird.”

Raymond sighed. The thought of seeing a demon had completely gone over his head, he was living in the moment. And even if he’d seen a demon, would he actually believe it? He supposed he’d have to. Pigs might as well be flying by then.

The gambler felt stupid looking up into the trees like this. Searching for something way too small, way too quick, and way too high up to grab. And of course he heard plenty of birds chirping but saw none. Of course there were a few dozen trees around at the bottom of the hill, and of course nobody could see them unless they were aptly looking for them, and of course it was only Luther and him… but he just felt dumb. Like he was being played. Like this was some elaborate scheme or trick. Maybe Luther was trying to get him in trouble. Say he’s a satanist and convert Ray, then pin the gambler as the one doing the crimes. Jesus, with everything being thrown at Raymond, with all the things that have happened already, with all of his brain  _ wanting _ to believe… he just couldn’t quite catch on. 

“Hey, look,” Luther grabbed his attention and motioned with his hand. A dozen or so yards away, on the ground, a small group of five birds was on the ground. They bounced around, picking at the ground, searching for a snack. They were the smallest things you could come by, with fluffy grey bodies and yellow heads. “Verdin.”

Raymond didn’t know that’s what the birds were called, but it didn’t matter much to him.

“Go get one,” Luther suggested with a grin.

“How?” Ray grumbled, “They’ll fly away before I even get close.”

“Maybe they will. Maybe they won’t. Go and try.”

The gambler stared at Luther.

The blonde motioned ahead for him. “Go on~!”

Ray sighed. Feeling twice as stupid, now, he marched through the damp grass. He slowed dramatically when he got closer to them, but they were already catching onto his plan and bouncing away. Raymond got lower, bending at the knees and putting his arms out as if ready to catch one if it flew his way. He took one more step closer, only to have them all flutter away a few more yards. 

Luther was chuckling. “Try diving for one.”

Raymond turned around. “You’re doin` somethin`.”

“I’m not doing anything!” he shrugged.

“You’re bullsh-tin` me.”

“It’s all for fun~”

Ray sighed and crossed his arms. “Quit makin` me look like an idiot. You can’t catch a bird.”

“Not like that, no,” Luther was walking up to him, “Watch this.” The blonde went ahead of him, casually approaching the group of birds. He stopped when they began to hop away, and the trees became louder. The birds above seemed to chirp at higher, frantic notes. Most of the birds on the ground did the same and flew away. Except for one… That one verdin was still pecking at the ground, unaware, and Luther got closer.

There was a wicked omen that settled over the area as the birds’ chirps almost sounded like screams. The small animal on the ground looked up, unafraid, peering at the blonde. Raymond suddenly felt sick to his stomach, waiting for something to happen.

Luther flicked his finger up, the mass of black coiling around his hand. 

The bird flew up as the satanist held his hand out. It landed on his palm. 

And the trees were silent.

Deathly silent. 

Ray was tense. It was such a bad feeling that he’d gotten for seemingly no reason. Nothing even happened. Well… nothing awful. He’d about forgotten to be surprised at Luther’s trick of getting a wild animal to come right up to him. 

The blonde turned around and walked up to the gambler. The verdin seemed even smaller now that he was holding it, the bird cozied up and relaxed. “Here,” Luther offered.

Raymond looked from the bird, to Luther, back to the bird. “What do you want me to do with it?”

“Just hold it. We’ll go to that pet shop and get a cage, then drop it off at the base.”

“We ain’t summonin` the patron?”

“Not yet. You still gotta do some warming up.”

Raymond took the bird, being extremely careful not to hurt it. He wagered that if he were to squeeze the bird as tight as he could then many—if not all—of its bones would break. He quickly shook that thought from his head, holding the bird in both hands. “How much warmin` up do I gotta do?”

“A bunch. You’re still jumpy about everything. You looked like you were about to run when I got the bird.”

Ray bit his tongue.

“Imagine what would happen if you saw  _ her _ . You’d probably explode.”

The gambler couldn’t even tell if Luther was being serious or not.

“C`mon. Let’s head to the shop.”

Raymond pet the top of its head with his thumb. “It’s not gonna fly away?”

“Shouldn’t. You should put it in your hat, though, so people don’t get suspicious.”

“Wouldn’t they think it’s just hurt?”

“Best not to draw attention to ourselves.”


	4. Silver Ornaments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Psalm 55:21

Luther suggested they spend the day in the bar until nightfall. They’d already bought the cage, now they just needed to wait until shops started closing. While they were here, Luther could teach him a few things to up his game, and just hang around and relax for a bit. 

It was a little more than weird to have a tiny bird in his hat for the rest of the day, but it seemed like it was sleeping. Raymond was worried that the thing would take a crap on his head at any time, however, it was idle. Just sitting on his head, still. He forgot it was there half of the time. He’d asked Luther if it was okay to even have the verdin under there for that long, and the blonde told him not to worry. So, following rules, he didn’t. At least, he tried not to. 

They had a couple more hours until sundown—by then most of the shops should be closed. Luther was in the midst of teaching Raymond how to read faces when a certain someone came up to their table. “Hello, boys,” the man greeted, “Mind if I sit?”

The friends looked up and saw a face that they both recognized. Curly brown hair, tan skin, a neat and curly mustache. He wore classy clothes, a dark, chestnut vest over a baggy, cream-colored undershirt. A silver chain hung from a pocket in his black trousers, his boots tapping. To Luther, this was Robert Harris, the man who asked Luther to help with the shakedown of the black man. To Raymond, this was the head guy of the three other opponents playing against him the other night.

Mr. Robert Harris did not wait for an answer to his question, he was already down and comfy. “Fancy finding you here,” there wasn’t much of an accent to him. He spoke like he was someone of high-honor, forcing his voice to a higher pitch, but that was about it. “I apologize for intruding. Thought I might say hello.”

The two of them looked at each other, then scanned the area. Nobody else clung to his sides or hovered about him, Mr. Harris was alone.

“Good to see you, Mr. Harris,” the blonde said, reaching out for a handshake, and was granted one. He then tapped his knee against Ray’s under the table. The gambler got the message.

“...Hello,” he quickly spat, reaching his hand out.

Harris… eyed him. And hesitated. It was a flash of a different face, like he’d peeked behind the mask of friendliness. And the handshake that came was most definitely forced. Quick, too. “I didn’t realize you two were friends. You were apart last I saw you.”

“I was meeting him here,” Luther said, “It’d been a few months since we last saw one another, and I heard he was in town. Figured I’d surprise him with a visit.”

Here we go, another lie. Raymond was ready.

“Ah, of course, of course. How are you two, then?” Raymond noticed that Harris was wiping his hand on his pant leg as if infected with a disease. Ray pretended not to notice. 

“Just fine,” Luther said.

“That’s good, that’s good. Glad I didn’t put you into too deep of a rut the other night,” he grinned at Raymond, “That was quite a hefty game. Helped me pay off some debt! Of course, being the man that you are, I’m sure that was only pocket change for you.”

Ray fake-chuckled, nodding. “It’s not often I get to play around like that. You beat me fair.”

Mr. Harris’ smile was nerve-racking. Not in the same way that Luther’s was, though. When Luther smiled without a care it always looked genuine, even in predicaments where he should not be happy. But Harris’ was immensely fake. So much so that Ray wanted to look away or even wipe it from his face like it was a smudge on glass. 

“You need something?” Luther was being friendly, “Looked like you came over here for a reason.”

“Oh, no reason in particular. I like to catch anybody I play against, just to know there were no hard feelings. I’m not a man of greed, I’m a man of union.”

Ray wanted to spit at him. He instead and only looked away. In doing so he recognized another face. Bright blonde hair, almost white, freckles—that was one of Harris’ buddies. He sat at a table farther away with others but didn’t partake in the conversation. He seemed focused. 

Scanning even more, he recognized two more faces. One had a bright brown beard with a cap, burly. Another had black hair with deep eyes, short and scrawny, with a nose like a beak. Both at different tables than the last. 

Ray found himself in the midst of a small army. Between the towhead, the lumberjack, the raven, and Robert Harris, he felt very intimidated. Scared, even. What was about to happen?

“There wasn’t much lost,” Luther elbowed Ray, who realized he should have been the one to respond. The nudge woke him up. “He usually stays pretty high in spirits, no point in being upset forever.”

“`Course not,” Raymond nodded. 

Harris nodded back. He shuffled in his seat, and while doing so, bumped his foot against the birdcage under the table. He curiously twisted his head, finding the metal cage dressed in gold coating. “You got a pet?”

Ray, again, had forgotten about the bird. He looked up at Harris and, feeling confident in himself for keeping a lie going for so long, pitched in a bit. “My daughter’s birthday present.”

He thought he was clever. He thought he was on a roll, in fact. But then he heard Luther nearly-silently sigh, and then came the follow-up questions. 

“Oh! You have a daughter? What’s her name?”

Ray’s hands went clammy. He tried to come up with a name on the spot. “...Ada.”

“Oh, that’s beautiful~ How old? Surely not very, you’re a young fellow.”

“Seven,” he very quickly played the math in his head to ensure he was safe.

“Where are your wife and kid staying?”

Ray felt the lump in his throat. “Ain’t here in the city. I’m just on business with him,” he glanced at Luther, finding a frown on his face, “They’re still at home.”

“South, I reckon?”

“Yup.”

“How long you been gone for?”

Raymond… wasn’t sure. He tried to count the days, but he was stalling in his words. He reckoned it was… a little over two weeks? “`Bout a month,” he answered, since he’s been here for a week after his travel.  _ Wait, no… Three weeks isn’t a month. _ He said nothing but silently cursed himself. Maybe he was panicking over nothing.

“You leave home often?”

“We try to meet up every few months,” Luther pitched in, saving Ray from messing up anything else, “Tell me, though, what’s it  _ you _ do?”

_ Thank God _ , Ray thought.

“Hm?” Harris didn’t catch it at first. “Oh! Well, I have a friend out on the east coast who I’m business partners with. He sent me out here to grab some ideas for a product.”

“Anything in mind?” the blonde asked.

“Nothing so far. But, ideas come easily. Money comes hard. So, I suppose I’m out here for that, too, to get funding for when our idea comes into view.”

“Who’s your friend?”

“He goes by Elijah Bond. He’s looking to make all of our names famous one day~”

Luther raised a brow, “‘All our names’?” he echoed, “Who’re your buddies?”

“Oh,” he was caught off guard, “No one in particular. Just some colleagues who are in on the plan. They went separate ways than me.”

Raymond realized that Luther had, too, noticed the familiar faces about the room. The gambler also took note of how Mr. Harris was attempting to hide the identity of his friends. 

Out of the blue, the man sitting across from them pulled the silver chain from his pocket, revealing a watch with swirly designs carved into it hanging on the end of the chain. “My, look at the time,” he chuckled, “My apologies, I wish I could stay. I was supposed to meet someone at the square ten minutes ago.” He stood, slipping the watch back in his pocket. “Good meeting you gentlemen. Maybe we’ll bump into each other often here!” 

“Be seeing you,” Luther waved him on.

Mr. Harris pushed in the chair, walked away from the table, and out the doors. Luther and Raymond were quiet for a bit, not saying anything to each other, keeping their eyes on the other three in the bar. Not two minutes later did the raven-looking man walk out the doors, then the towhead, and lastly the lumberjack. That large man had eyed the satanists’ table, and beneath his coat was a large belt. Raymond swore he saw the handle of a gun.

Luther tapped Ray’s arm, getting his attention. “You see the other three?”

“Yeah,” the gambler swallowed, “The hell was all that?”

“They’ll be keeping an eye on us, it looks like,” he sighed, “Harris wasn’t making small talk. He was digging for information.”

Raymond frowned. “Why?”

“Why do you think? He got all of your money and I told him that I hoped he’d win against you. He didn’t think we were buddies. He’s confused.”

“You think he knows we’re bluffin`?”

“I’d say he’s got an idea,” Luther tapped the table, “A word of advice, only tell the bare minimum. Don’t make people up. Especially if they’re ‘family,’” he cocked his head to the side, “Unless that wasn’t a lie. You don’t have a daughter, do you?”

“No, no,” Ray assured.

“Thought so,” he spoke, “And don’t use people’s actual names. That’s just gonna wrap you up into trouble.”

Raymond bit at the inside of his cheek. He realized he messed up.

Luther didn’t notice his silence as anything out of the ordinary. “Good on saying they were down south, though. He may have gone looking for them if you said they were here.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. That’s how his people operate. He isn’t trying to be buddies, he’s trying to hunt us down,” he shrugged, “Not very good at it, though. Didn’t even ask our names.”

“Don’t he know our names?”

“Don’t know my name. Did he ask for yours the night you played against him?”

“No.”

“There you go.”

Ray huffed. “He hardly knows anythin` about us.”

“That’s why he’s being friendly. He  _ wants _ to get to know us. Know what we do, who we work for, who our family is. He’ll flank us on all sides if we aren’t careful,” Luther ran his finger down a crease in the table, “Just stick to the lie we have going right now. Changing it will be worse for us.” He looked at Raymond, “From now on, though, lemme do most of the talking. You can pitch in with the little details of what I say, but don’t go off on a whim and make your own stuff up.”

The gambler nodded. 

Luther adjusted his weight in his chair. “We should find somewhere else to stay during the day. This bar isn’t gonna be safe here soon.”

  
  


* * *

It was harder getting over the wall with the bird and its cage. They ended up having to throw the cage over. Raymond had taken off his coat and tied the sleeves around his waist while he climbed, trying his very best not to rattle his head too much. He also remembered to cover his hands while taking the rope down. Nothing hurt, nothing ripped, the cage hadn’t even been dented from the throw.

They found the latch and went down, a sinking feeling settling in Ray’s stomach as he descended the ladder for the second time. The room was pitch black once more until Luther walked forward, and all the lights came on. Everything was right where they left it.

Raymond took his hat off and cupped the bird in his hands. Its eyes were closed, sleeping. It had been that way for a while. He rubbed its soft head. “...We really gotta kill this guy?”

“Not tonight, but soon enough,” Luther said, “Besides, it's just a bird. There’s thousands of those things.”

Raymond was frowning, a bit upset. “...What’s wrong with it?” he asked, walking over to the table. 

“What do you mean?”

“It’s been still for a while.”

“Dead?”

“No,” he held his hands out to Luther, “Sleepin`. Are you doin` that?”

“Yeah. I just put it in an idle state until we were ready.”

“When are we gonna be ready?”

“Depends on how long you take to warm up to everything,” he took the verdin from Ray’s hands and turned to a larger table, not the one with the strange book. It was near the back by a bookcase—a large, wooden table wedged into the corner. Luther had set the cage upon the table just a moment ago. He stuck his hand through the door, carefully placed the bird, and latched it shut.

“Won’t it get hungry?”

“Not as long as it’s in here,” he turned and dusted his hands off. 

“So, you  _ and _ this room take a toll on it?”

“This room affects everything and everyone that walks in. I can only do some things to some creatures. Birds, snakes, small animals, trees—”

“Trees?”

Luther nodded. “Kill them, bring them back to life, twist branches, make them bloom, a bunch of stuff.”

“...I… How?” That was always the question. That one-word question that still hadn’t seemed to have been truthfully answered. He immediately sighed afterward, then said, “Nevermind. Your patron, I know.”

“You’re frustrated,” Luther snickered.

“Well… `Course I am.”

“You’ll come around to it in time~ Trust me.”

There was a moment of quiet. Raymond was taking the time to look around, creating a mental picture. He saw closed chests that he hadn’t noticed before, a few braids made of animal pelts, metals, and wax, a couple of empty shelves, but that was about it. “Did you… collect all this stuff?”

“Collected, bought, some of it was given to me.”

“What’s it all for?”

“Our patron will send us on some tasks, sometimes just to collect items she might need. Demons typically don’t like to wander Earth, so they make rooms and have their followers transport things there. I’ve just got a bit of everything she might need.”

The gambler was fiddling with his hat. “What… does she look like?” If he had to guess, he would expect this grotesque monster with a million horns and twice that many teeth, bulbous and pulsing, waiting to eat that sleeping bird in the cage… or a red, comical demon. One of those extremes.

“You’ll know when you see her,” Luther said, and of course, Raymond was far from satisfied with that answer. 

The gambler found himself looking around again. The blonde was shuffling through some things. Ray’s eyes landed on the mysterious door, the hidden contents on the other side eating at him. “What’s over there?”

Luther lifted his head, finding what Raymond questioned. “The door? That’s where you’ll go to see our patron.”

Ray wanted to go inside but, within a moment, found he had no reason to. A feeling washed over him, telling him it would just waste time. He paid little mind to the door after that.

“Grab that book for me, will you?” Luther asked. He was rummaging through a standalone closet near one of the corners of the room. Raymond assumed he meant the one with strange inscriptions. He stepped back to the table and fetched it, returning to Luther, who was now at a bookcase. “You can read, right?”

The gambler nodded, “Sure. But, uh, not fast. And I have trouble writing.”

“Well, that’ll be our first step to your full conversion, then,” the blonde smiled, taking the book and sliding it into a satchel he’d gotten from the closet. It was made entirely out of leather with silver buttons and lining. He pushed a few other books in. “I’ll teach you how to read and write a little better. Then I’m gonna teach you Greek.”

“...Oh. Uhm, alright.”

“You’re gonna need to be able to read this book. I told you, it’ll be yours. Once you can read it, you can follow the directions, perform the tasks, and be on your way to seeing our patron. Plus, you’ll be able to do a few neat tricks that I do.” He closed up the satchel, then handed it over to his friend. “C`mon, Ray. Let’s head to Nana’s.”

Raymond adjusted the strap on his shoulder. With a breath and a sigh, he followed Luther.

  
  


* * *

  
  


The door was unlocked, just as Luther had told Nana Clark to leave it. It wasn’t entirely too late, around 9:30 now that they were here. But most of the lights in the house were off, save one in the living room. They made sure to be extra quiet, assuming Nana was asleep upstairs. 

After Ray took his shoes, coat, and hat off, he sat on the couch, letting the satchel slide off of his arm and next to him.

Luther was at the door, messing with the floor. Ray watched him peel a rug up from in front of the door and pick a key from beneath it. He didn’t make any comment but kept it in mind as Luther locked the door.

“I’m gonna run upstairs and make sure Nana is alright,” he returned the key, “Be right back.”

Luther passed Raymond and went up the stairs, and the gambler took this quiet time to relax. The events of these past three days were very heavy, nearly as much as the weight when he left home. It would be nice to be back there in that tiny neighborhood, those golden fields reflecting the sunlight. He sighed at the imaginary serenity. 

But it was all taken away when he remembered Robert Harris. His face and his buddies. That glimpse of the gun. It tore at him, making him nervous just thinking about it. And all the things he said, the lies, the mess-ups. What if Harris actually does go looking for his ‘daughter?’ Or his ‘wife?’ What happens when they have to explain why they’ve been here so long? What happens when he figures out that they’re bluffing? Will it be an immediate call-out? Something slower? All of that… it was hard to deal with. 

After a minute or so, the blonde’s footsteps could be heard coming down the stairs. “She’s fine. Let’s just make sure to be quiet.”

“Aren’t you goin`a bed?” Raymond asked.

“No, we’re studying,” Luther plopped down next to the gambler, putting the satchel in his lap. He opened it up and took a book, which simply read,  _ The English Language _ . “How long did you go to school for, Ray?”

“A few years,” he answered, “When I was real little. Before ten, I know.”

“So you’ve got the backbone of it all, good,” he was flipping through, “Well, I’ll be your teacher~ Shouldn’t be hard, you look smart enough,” he joked.

Ray smiled and shook his head. “Sure.”

Luther elbowed him. “Hey,” his voice went a little lower, a little more serious, “You don’t have to worry about anything, you know?”

Raymond found it impressive that this satanist was able to read him so easily. He couldn’t look Luther in the eye.

“I’m gonna make sure they don’t pull anything stupid. Stick with me and you won’t get hurt. You won’t have to be concerned over anything,” he nodded, “Okay?”

Ray exhaled. He nodded back. “Okay,” he agreed, putting as much trust as he could in this man.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Raymond woke up from a dreamless sleep. He was leaned back, sitting up, head on the back of the couch. His mouth had been open, comically snoring away. He rubbed his face and woke himself up a bit.

At first he thought the sun was up and just hardly shining through the windows, as there was light present in the room. He realized it wasn’t from dawnbreak, though, but from the oil lamp that was barely clinging to life. 

It was still dark outside. Still the dead of night. And Luther was still there, next to him, also asleep. They must have drifted off while studying—Luther had a book open in his lap, and Ray had paper and a pencil in his. It was scribbled all over in both of their handwriting (Luther’s much neater than Ray’s), full of minuscule words. 

The blonde next to him was almost silent. His head was slumped to the side, away from the lamplight, facing Raymond. They weren’t touching, nonetheless very close, and the gambler could feel Luther’s soft breath on his neck… It gave him chills. 

Ray quietly picked up the paper and stood, cautious of the snoozer. He carefully removed the book from his lap and set everything on the end table. He peered around for the satchel, finding it at the corner of the couch, and left it there. It wasn’t in the way. 

However, he did… close the flap. You know, just in case Nana saw  _ that _ book and got curious. Satisfied, he went to the next task: deciding whether or not to wake Luther. It’d be for the best if he did, that way he could have the couch and the blonde could have his bed and neither of them would have to strain their backs by sleeping upright all night. But waking somebody up never gets less awkward, no matter how long you’ve lived or how many times you do it, does it? 

Ray sat back down, placing a hand on the satanist’s arm. “Hey,” he whispered and gave him a shake, “Luther. Wake up.”

The guy was a light sleeper, and was awake in a moment’s notice. His eyes—which, again, seemed grey in the lighting—fluttered open and landed on Ray first, then searched around the room. His body rose and fell with a breath and a sigh. “Oh,” he smiled, leaning forward to stretch out his back, “Whoops, I fell asleep on you.”

“We both did,” Raymond corrected, taking his hand away.

“Guess I’m heading up,” Luther rubbed his face, the intense shadows adding extra depth to his features. He stood up and threw his arms over his head, his back cracking, which Ray cringed at. “Where’s every… oh,” the blonde was looking for the books, and found them on the table. “Alright… Get some sleep, Ray,” he grinned to his friend.

Raymond nodded, “You too.”

He waited for Luther to get upstairs before turning the lamp out. The blankets were draped over the back of the couch. All he had to do was lay down and pull them over. 

And things were dark. Silent. This time, though, there was no rain. No noise to block out the creeping thoughts. No imagery to distract him. 

Getting to sleep had never been this bad. When he left home, he always had the sound of locusts and crickets to keep him up, usually sleeping on a horse cart. If not that, then the wind. Even the slight squeaking of the wagon wheels were enough. And he could always see, always. The night sky was always visible, never pitch-black. It was hues of blue and purple with sparkling stars banding over the sky like freckles. A million and more silver freckles of the sky. He would lay on his back and look up at that great wrapping of stars, the edge of his universe, so far away but still able to be seen. Each night he’d count how many shooting stars he saw, only wishing for another. He would marvel at it all. 

Then there was when he was at home. It was only a short while ago when he last slept in that house, but it felt like years. He remembered the creaking of the sturdy building as it moved with the wind, the footsteps of his mother cleaning up after sending him and his sister to bed. Usually, as soon as her head hit the pillow, his sister was out cold. He would always sneak out and find a worm, then put it on her back or cheek and wait for her to wake up. He smiled, remembering how he’d always get in trouble but didn’t care. Sometimes he wouldn’t even make it out the door, his mom would catch him and toss him right back to his room. 

This house was almost like home. It was just… too quiet. 

His smile faded when he remembered that he wasn’t at home. He wasn’t even welcomed there anymore. 

He put an arm over his eyes, sighing. What was he doing here? What was even the point of coming to miserable Las Vegas? He’d have the worst slurs thrown at him every day, he hadn’t even seen another black man or woman around. He was open game. What did he want, cash? From gambling? Hard to be successful when you learn there’s a gun to the back of your head 24/7. Why didn’t he go home after that winning night? Why did he have to stay  _ one more day? _ Did he think he could win more? It was by pure luck that he even got a dime out of that exchange! He could have gone home with that. He could have made the town like him again. He could have made up with his sister. He could have… been forgiven? Was money really going to solve what he did? How he acted?

Raymond bit his lip.

How… How did these thoughts even come into action? How did he find himself cursing his own name? Oh, right… He was trying to sleep. 

He took his arm away and let it hang over the couch. His fingers laid upon the carpet. His shirt stretched over his chest.

This shirt… This suit… It was all just a persona he had. He was just trying to be somebody new. Did he even want to go home? Or did he want to change his identity? What did he even want…?

He fell asleep. Eventually.

There was no dream.


	5. Lesson Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Psalm 55:3

“C`mon, you nearly had it!” Luther laughed.

“No, I failed?”

Luther put the paper on the table, sighing with a chuckle. “Yeah. Sorry, man.” He’d just gotten done grading a makeshift test that Ray had done. It was over the Greek language, just forming little words. 

Raymond, disappointed, slid the test over the table and in front of him. He searched for what he messed up on…

...and was surprised to see that he missed none.

Looking up he witnessed Luther’s cheeky grin, a hum of a giggle emitting from him. “Sorry, did I say you failed?”

Raymond laughed and held the paper, “You sly dog~” He flipped the page over, seeing no extra marks. “Nothin`? I missed nothin`?”

“Nothing at all,” Luther stood and met Ray in his seat. He grabbed both of his shoulders and playfully shook him a bit, “I’m very impressed~”

It’d been about two weeks since they first studied, falling asleep on the couch. There had been plenty more nights like that, of course, but it seemed like it was all paying off. Raymond was making exceptional progress, needing practically no help with basic English and its rules, hardly the amount of assistance he thought he’d need writing, and they’d been well on their way to learning Greek for a solid week. A few hours a day was doing good, and Ray was excited to learn! He didn’t think he would be, with all the expected monotonicity of it, but it was fun! Really, it was. Having Luther as a teacher was entertaining—he’d pull these dumb things out of nowhere, make references that Raymond didn’t understand. And when he asked what they were Luther would completely abandon the subject and just talk. Degression seemed to be his specialty. 

Take this conversation from the other night:

“That letter, there, that’s psi,” the blonde pointed.

“Sigh?”

“Mhm. Spelled P-S-I.”

“Which one, again?”

“The one that looks like a candelabra.”

“What’s that?”

Luther waved his hands through the air. “You know, the thing that looks like a menorah.”

Ray blinked. “...Menorah?”

“The candle-thingy that Jews use at Hanukkah!” he tried to see if he could ring any bells.

None chimed for the gambler.

“You know what Hanukkah is, right?” Luther asked.

“Yeah, it’s like Christmas for Jews.”

“Sure. You know how Christians have a tree? Well, Jews have their menorah. It’s a big candlestick that looks like this,” he pointed to the letter ‘psi’ again,” but it’s got three branches on each side.” His eyes wandered, “You know, I was in Israel when Hanukkah was being celebrated. I think it was… three years ago? Yeah…” he adjusted himself, “It was fantastic. So many colors, so many lights. I wasn’t able to celebrate it with anyone—I’m not  _ entirely _ familiar with the holiday—but I know it’s this huge event. Eight days long, people are with their families. So much singing. So much… noise. Everybody was so happy.”

Ray cocked his head, “I… didn’t expect you to say you like it.” It was late, and Nana was sleeping, so he felt safe to say, “You know, with you being a satanist and all.”

Luther frowned. “It’s not that I don’t tolerate other religions. Just the people who do wrong by the world  _ because _ of their religion. Or just… horrible people in general,” he sighed, “When I wanted to live life taking revenge and seeking justice on the bastards who hurt me, there was nobody I could turn to. Nobody agreed with me,” he tapped his leg, “Satanism… it’s tricky, and it’s hard to commit to. But I know I’m happier when I have something to stand by. Even if the rest of the world blocks it out.”

Raymond understood well enough. But he had something to ask. “What made you want to be part of that? Did somethin` happen to you?”

That was the first time he witnessed Luther choke on his words. His eyes had this glassiness to them as they stared off into the room at nothing. His lips were barely hooked into a smile, but they didn’t match the moment. He’d stopped tapping his leg. It was like he was trying to seem alright, but something had clearly irked him. Something…

“Luther?” 

The blonde blinked and regained a full smile. He looked Raymond in the face, his blue eyes full of hidden emotion. “Yeah. Something happened, alright,” he bowed his head, “I’ll tell you sometime later.”

Ray felt awkward and uncomfortable. Not to the point where he was squirming and writhing, itching to leave, but that sort of feeling when you know you might have hurt somebody and didn’t mean to. A feeling Raymond was very familiar with.

He thought of the things Luther had said to him, about being able to trust him. He wanted to reciprocate that. “You know… If I can talk to you, you can talk to me. I don’t want you to just… carry me, plus yourself.”

Luther didn’t look at him.

“Sorta like you said,” the gambler continued, “If you and I are gonna be a thing, doin` this… we should be able to trust each other, right?”

There was no response. Not at first, at least. The satanist’s head was bent over, his eyes fixed on the pages below, that small smile still there.

Then, he began to snicker. That snicker turned to a giggle, then a chuckle, and suddenly he was laughing. Raymond was far from it, pretty nervous and maybe a little scared. He never seriously considered Luther to be crazy, still hadn’t, so that wasn’t an option for an explanation of his spontaneous laughter. 

Before Ray could even say anything, though, the blonde grabbed his wrist and held it. He wasn’t hurting the gambler, not at all, and his jubilance died down. “Are you kidding me?” he exclaimed, looking almost through Raymond—who was sure he probably just looked like a complete idiot in front of Luther.

Ray averted his gaze, not pulling away from Luther, but not enjoying being in his company at the moment.

“No one’s ever said that back to me,” the blonde’s voice was raised, but progressively becoming quieter. “No one…” he didn’t finish.

Raymond looked back at him. “What do you mean?”

“You know how many people I’ve told, ‘you can trust me’ to? I’ve tried to do that ‘feely’ sh-t to everyone I liked. None of it’s  _ ever  _ worked!” his eyes drifted down to Ray’s hand, “None… ha… `til you.” 

The gambler stared.

Luther shook his head. “Why do you trust me?” he expanded, “Why are you  _ actually _ opening your thoughts up to me? And why do you want me to open up to you?”

Raymond seemed more confused than him. “Because… I’m…”  _ a decent guy?  _ he thought to himself, then switched his words, “...You look like you deserve to be heard.”

Luther smirked, eyes wide. “I came from a place where I didn’t deserve anything,” he looked away, then groaned. “What the hell am I talking about? White boy with petty problems. This should sound stupid to you.”

The gambler frowned. “Don’t use  _ me _ to compare your problems,” he tried to be sincere, “Luther, if you gotta talk, go ahead. I didn’t come here to have the troubles of my daddy be compared to yours.”

The satanist lost his smile. There was an invisible weight on his shoulders that seemed to have been lightened, just a bit. Ray hadn’t even realized that the blonde’s hand had snaked up to his own, his thumb rubbing the palm of his hand. Raymond felt hot. 

“I’ll… keep that in mind,” Luther had said.

Then he’d gone to excuse himself outside, getting a breath of fresh air. Ray was left on the couch, thoughts squirming about, feeling the palm of his hand. 

That conversation was keeping a prominent place in his head after however many days. And after that, things just seemed to get better. Luther still hadn’t told him about what his backstory was, but they were acting like friends. Actual friends. Not something that had to be done because of tutoring. Not something bound by a pact or a deal made on the whim before having to scale a wall. Not something out of debt because one was saved from death by the other. They were screwing with each other constantly with big talk and subtle scolding. That last part happened  _ often _ because Luther always got a kick out of people-watching. It was another thing for Ray to practice, just picking up on body language and things people say. But it soon turned into an overly-laughable festival when Luther would always bump elbows with the gambler to grab his attention, only then to point at a short, round man with peculiar-colored clothing and go, “One of the plants escaped from the pumpkin patch!” just loud enough for Ray to hear. Ray would then elbow him back a little harder. Or when Luther would bring up ludicrous and crazy terms that Raymond had never heard of before, and they were quite wild. The blonde would place nametags like  _ church bell _ , a talkative lady;  _ foozler _ , a clutz;  _ jollocks _ , a fat person; and  _ whooperup _ , a particularly low-grade singer. Just some things the gambler could add to his dictionary.

They hadn’t been to either the bar or the underground room since the bird incident. They spent most of their time either wandering the town or in the house. 

Nana Clark was walking over, hearing the whole conversation. “Luthy, you know better than to kid with him like that,” she patted Ray on the shoulder, and Luther sat back in his seat, “He was looking so sad when you told him he failed. A frown doesn’t look good on you.”

Raymond smiled and touched her hand.

“He’s a big boy, he’ll be fine,” Luther waved it off, “He’s doing good!”

“I could never learn something like that,” she looked over Ray’s shoulder at his paper.

“You never know,” the blonde shrugged. “Ray, you wanna go over everything, then we move on to the next lesson?”

The gambler nodded, “Sounds alright.”

Luther had this smirk about him. “Or…” he twirled his finger over the table, “...You wanna take a break? Go get something to eat?”

That second option was very appealing, and it was clear that both the student and the teacher wanted to do it. Raymond smiled big, “Yes, please!” And they were both up in an instant. 

“Boys! Boys!” Nana urged, waddling over to a countertop, “How long are you going to be out?”

“What do you need, Nana?” Luther asked.

“Oh, could you two be dears and head to the grocer or one of the stalls? Everything I got’s going bad.”

“`Course,” Raymond promised, “We’ll head that way after we’re done?” he looked to his friend for confirmation. 

“Sounds like a plan,” the blonde agreed.

Nana handed him a list she’d fetched. “There’s what I need, it’s not much.”

Luther pocketed it. “We’ll be back sometime this evening, Nana. Shouldn’t be late.” He kissed the top of her head.

“Have fun, boys,” she smiled warmly, receiving a kiss from Ray, “And thank you!”

“See you, Nana,” the gambler gave her a small wave as the two went out of the kitchen. They slipped on their shoes by the door, Raymond dressed his coat and hat over him, and they were gone.

They were on their way down the pavement. “I’m thinking we hitch a ride to the other end of town. There’s this diner that I heard is fantastic but I haven’t been yet,” Luther suggested.

“I’m just followin` you,” Ray grinned. 

The sky was clear today, the sun baking the ground, but a gentle breeze washed over the city and brought relief to its citizens. Kids were playing outside, enjoying the perfect summer weather, and parents were out on their porches watching them, talking, laughing.

“Favorite food?” Luther queried. 

Raymond thought for a moment. “Anytime I can get sweets I’m happy.”

“Ooh, candy guy~” he chuckled, “But, I meant more along the lines of meals. What do you plan on getting?”

“Oh!” Ray laughed, “Well, candy, obviously.”

“Quit kidding!” Luther pushed him.

“I dunno,” Ray gave him a push back, “I ain’t ever been. I ain’t gonna know what they have,” he added a touch of sarcasm to his voice.

“ _ Meh meh meh _ ,” the blonde mocked, “You’re difficult,” he joked.

“How am I difficult?” the gambler explained.

“ _ Meh meh meh _ .”

Raymond pushed him again, “ _ You’re _ difficult.”

They made it through the sunny subdivision and out to the main road, grabbing a carriage and traveling to the opposite end of town. The streets were bustling with people. Men in top hats and canes were walking with their ladies who wore bright dresses of yellow and green. Small children holding toys or treats bounded down the sidewalk and teenagers teased the horses as they went by on the road. 

They rode through the marketplace, picking a few others up. The smell of fresh fruits and meats filled the air, as they did every day. Farmers, hunters, and fishermen were constantly working to make, collect, and sell their produce. The midday sun didn’t touch the products as there were canopies over each stall, and the market-owners warded away the occasional fly and sneak-thief hands. 

“Look at this son of a bitch,” Luther murmured, nudging Raymond. They both saw a shady-looking young man, somewhere in his teens, hovering about a cheap jewelry stall. Rings and necklaces were neatly scattered about the tabletop, and the lady behind the counter was oblivious to the teenager. His bright hair reflected the sunlight and his dark clothes absorbed it. He was stepping closer.

They both knew what was about to happen. This kid would snag a ring or a necklace and dart, too quick for anyone to catch up with him. There was nothing much to do, though. Trying to stop him before the crime would just make it seem like he was the victim.

Well, as far as Raymond thought.

With a focused glare, they saw the kid nab a silver necklace, its shiny coat glistening in the sun. The lady screamed, “Hey!” and the boy took his first step to dash… 

...but his legs were suddenly kicked out from under him. It was as if someone had just taken a bat to his shins, making them fly backward and the teenager landed on his face in front of the stall.

Raymond looked back at Luther, who had a sly grin. The last of the black mass was disappearing from his fingers. 

“Thief!” the lady cried, “Thief!”

Before the boy could even get up a few men from the other market stalls came over and had him by the collar, ripping the necklace from his hands and keeping him at bay. One of them held him by the coat like a kitten by the scruff as the horse carriage rode out of the market. 

Raymond gave Luther a nudge, and the blonde reciprocated. 

Within time they’d hopped out of the cart and made their way to the diner. It was an amazingly large building, newly built. The sign above the double doors read  _ Terry & Son’s Capital Diner _ in bold lettering. 

Walking in, they were immediately met by a doorman. “How many?” he asked Luther.

“Two,” he answered, reaching into his pocket.

“50¢ for seating, please.”

It was a simple exchange. However, as they walked through, the doorman eyed Raymond. He hardly noticed.

Within minutes they were taken upstairs to be sat. It was a grand room of dozens of tables and buzzing voices. Round, electrical lights hung overhead, placing a warm glow over the room. There was hardly an empty table in sight, and so many smiling faces were placed all over the room. And just to make things better, the two were taken to a small table over by the multiple windows littering the wall—which meant they got a great view of the city.

“Like it?” Luther asked as they sat down. 

“This place is massive,” he laughed, “How much do you gotta pay for all this?”

“It’s pretty average,” the blonde shrugged.

“I don’t want you goin` broke,” Raymond suggested.

“You kidding me? You think money is a problem for me?” Luther chuckled, “Besides, look at you. You’ve got sparkles in your eyes from this place.”

Raymond smiled sheepishly. “Thanks, Luther,” he told him.

The blonde shook his head. “No need to thank me,” he said, “Haven’t even eaten yet~”

The gambler sighed happily.

“Here, take a menu. Find something you want,” Luther told him.

They scanned down the list of meals, Ray feeling quite overwhelmed by the several upon several options. It didn’t take long for a waitress to come by. “Hello, sir,” she greeted, her voice high and mighty, and it didn’t take long for Raymond to realize why she only addressed one of them… and which of the two she spoke to, “Doin` yer good deed for the day, hm?”

Luther raised a brow. “Excuse me?”

“Well, how good’s he been to ya, to be takin` him out for a lunch? Dressin` him up, too. Cute to give him a menu like the thing can read~”

Raymond sighed loudly. This was normal.

Well, normal for him. Luther, on the other hand, wasn’t liking it. He put his menu on the table and looked over at Raymond. “Permission to talk, sir?”

Ray blinked.  _ What was he doing? _ “...Yes,” the gambler allowed.

Luther looked up at the lady with wide, pure eyes. “Master here is visiting the colonies from overseas,” he had this strange accent, like every annunciation was overdone and forced, “My English is not perfect. Are you asking me for my order?”

The waitress doubled back, having to completely rewire her brain to wrap her head around what was just said to her. Her face reeled back, her lips hooking into a frown, her eyes squinted. 

“You should not ask me, first. Ask Master, it is more appropriate.”

Raymond had caught onto this act.

The woman looked to Luther, then to Ray, then her eyes went down to her notepad, averting her gaze from the both of them. “What… would you like, sir?” she asked Raymond this time.

They ordered—the gambler having to give permission to Luther to speak again—and as soon as she left Ray burst into laughter. “The hell was that?” he exclaimed.

“Pretty good, wasn’t it?”

“You see her face?”

They laughed some more, agreeing to go along with this  _ master from the east _ gig. Raymond had never even thought to do that, and definitely didn’t expect it. The two friends joked around and enjoyed their meal-to-come.

  
  


* * *

  
  


“We got everythin`?” Raymond asked.

“I think so,” Luther checked the list one more time. They both had a bagful of small groceries; food and ingredients for Nana’s cooking. By the looks of it, she had something pretty big planned. 

They were in that diner much longer than they thought they’d be, just enjoying themselves. Around two hours were spent dealing with small talk. They caught each other up on current events which spun into how they would act if they were the president, or maybe even kings. Raymond teasingly reminded him that he’d always be the ‘master,’ and Luther mocked him jokingly. More conversation twirled through the air like that, and the gambler didn’t have to worry about dirty looks or derogatory remarks while he was with Luther. 

Now they were on their way back home, looking for a carriage to hitch a ride. Down the sidewalk they went, hoping to catch one.

“Luther,” Raymond began, “Thanks for that.”

“Hm?”

“You know,” he explained, “Throwin` yourself down like that. You coulda just let her run her mouth.”

“Tch!” Luther chuffed, “And then what? Just sit there while you’re being attacked?”

“I ain’t…” he stopped himself. He found himself frowning, but not knowing why he was upset. He was just… flustered. Nobody’s ever had to do that for him, and nobody defended him even when they had opportunities to. It was a new feeling. “Just… Thanks. I didn’t ask you to that, and you did it anyway.”

The blonde smiled wide. “I’ve got your back.”

They found themselves just looking and grinning at each other. 

Until…

“Aye!” a loud and obnoxious voice came from across the street, owned by some drunkard who was crossing. At first, Ray thought he was friendly, maybe just being dumb, if anything. Yell something crazy at them, then scamper off. “Aye!” he didn’t lower his voice, even with the closer he got.

And then the drunkard started casting slurs. Loudly. Ear-piercingly. Slurs for homosexuals, calling it by all the wrong names. Slurs for either of them, calling them prostitutes and wagtails. Slurs for Raymond, the one that he’d always gotten, but never at this volume. Hard ‘r’, spit in his face—he didn’t even realize he was being pushed until he lost his balance and fell backward. 

When he woke from his daze he saw Luther face-to-face with the drunkard. The idiot wasn’t higher than the blonde’s chin and a scrawny bastard at that. Luther was shoving him into the street, hitting his chest. The drunkard only repeated his slur-filled rampage.

Raymond looked at the ground around him. His bag had been spilled open when he fell. Luther had dropped his. He mindlessly stood.

The drunkard took a swing, but the satanist only had to duck slightly as the attack was far too high, and Luther returned the favor by clocking the idiot in the throat. He choked, air lost, and stumbled back. Luther hit him again, this time in the face and busting his nose. One last punch to the face and the drunkard was down, kneeling on the brick street. The satanist was silent, throwing no insults. 

Raymond hurried over, seeing how quickly this was escalating. He thought his friend was done…

...but he wasn’t. With the drunkard keeled over, it presented the perfect opportunity for Luther to take his shoe to the idiot’s stomach. An upward kick to the gut and the bastard was laying on the ground, curled up.

Raymond jumped onto Luther, but not before the man could get a second kick in. “Stop! Stop!” the gambler had thrown his arms around the blonde’s midsection, pulling his body into himself. Luther writhed and kicked, yelling now, trying to get to the drunkard. Raymond pushed against the ground with most of his strength just to get Luther back on the sidewalk, and by then, he’d broken free. The blonde didn’t run after the drunkard, though, he just stood up straight with ruffled feathers and a wild rage in his eyes. 

Raymond tugged on his arm, “C`mon, let’s go,” he spoke quickly and sharply. Luther didn’t move, he just stared at the cowering man, now silent. Ray tugged harder, “ _ Let’s go _ ,” he hissed, a hint of fear in his voice.

He dared to let Luther go and quickly gathered the items back into the bag, picking it up. His palms hurt. They’d been cut open from the jagged ground. He ignored it and made a step down the sidewalk. He glanced over to ensure his friend was doing the same—and he was. Angrily, at best, but still copying Ray.

The gambler knew that others had stopped and watched. All those who caught wind of the situation were now staring at them as they swiftly walked by. Luther moved with a furious passion, stomping his feet and scaring anyone too close. Raymond moved with his tail between his legs and head down, arms straight and hugging his sides. 

They didn’t talk. Not to each other. Not to anyone. Even when getting in the carriage, they didn’t talk. Ray held his chin low and averted any eye-contact.

Luther had placed a firm hand on Raymond’s knee during the ride. The gambler almost wanted to touch it. Hold it, maybe. But there were others riding. Plus, how heated was Luther, still? Best not.

The blonde mindlessly tapped Ray’s leg for the rest of the ride.


	6. Funny Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Proverbs 18:24

Nana Clark was seated on the couch in plain view when they walked through the door. She lifted her head from a book and greeted them instantly. “Hello, boys!” she said joyously, “Enjoy your afternoon?”

“It was good,” Luther answered simply and quickly. The tension was obvious. 

Nana lost her grin. She set her book aside and stood, following Luther as he strode to the kitchen. “Luthy, what’s the matter?” she looked to Ray, who was slower behind the two, “What’s the matter?”

Raymond sighed. “Nothin`. It wasn’t much.”

“ _ Wasn’t much? _ ” Luther echoed, dropping the bag on the countertop, “That bastard attacked you!”

“That don’t mean you got to attack him back! `Specially at  _ that _ magnitude!”

“What the hell was I supposed to do?”

“I dunno! Not that! That guy ain’t—”

“Why are you defending that bastard?!”

“I’m not!”

“Why won’t you let me—?!”

“ _ Gentlemen! _ ” Nana broke the argument. She wasn’t happy. “Thank you for getting my things, but take this  _ outside. _ Lord Almighty, if you don’t sound like idiots now!” She waddled off to the countertop.

Luther and Raymond stared at each other. They both seemed upset, but… not in an angry way. Just frustrated, if anything.

“ _ Move _ , boys!”

Luther sighed sharply, marching out of the kitchen. Along the way, he grabbed Raymond’s wrist and pulled him through the living room. The gambler didn’t resist. He was led to the mudroom at the back of the house and yanked through the door, stepping out to the backyard. A short canopy-roof provided shade, and stepping stones out to the well were the only manmade things to stand on. 

They stood in silence for a long moment. Raymond kept his head down.

Luther was rubbing his face, stressed. “...You talk first.”

Ray glanced up at him.

“I’m not gonna yell at you. I’m not mad at you,” the blonde told him, “Go.”

The gambler blinked, feeling more than awkward. What was he supposed to say? “I…” he tried to form a sentence, but Luther’s burning eyes kept him at bay, “...You can’t just… do that.”

“Why not?” 

“`Cause it’s wrong,” Raymond felt like he was talking to a child, “You beat that guy to a pulp; that’s wrong.”

“Oh, but it’s not wrong when he calls you a…” he stopped himself, “A you-know.”

“No, that’s wrong too.”

“Then what the hell is the difference? Tell me.”

The gambler thought for a moment. He knew that he couldn’t talk for long, as Luther would definitely cut him off somewhere at the start. “The difference is that all he did was push me and call me that sh-t. Screwin` with the man’s look isn’t any better!”

“Why isn’t it?!” he raised his voice slightly, getting excited, but caught himself and toned it down. “Surely it’s at least  _ equivalent  _ to what he did. That’s such a f-cking cheap move to pull, in the middle of the day, with other people—with kids around!” Well, never mind. Calming down was out of the picture.

“Yes! With people and kids! You did that in front of  _ them! _ ” 

“Of course I did! You think if I had just let that guy go without a punishment that those children wouldn’t go home repeating him over and over? And their pricks for parents would just let them! And that’s another ten more people to have to deal with for you!”

He took his hat off. “Luther—”

“Why do you think—”

“ _ Luther, please, _ ” he stopped him. 

The blonde stood there, face red, huffing.

Raymond gave up. “You’re right… Okay? Is that what you want to hear? You’re right.”

The satanist shook his head. He was  _ not _ satisfied. “What did I tell you I stood by?” he hissed, “I said that  _ we _ don’t forgive and forget.  _ We _ get even. Did I not?”

The gambler didn’t respond. He didn’t need to.

“ _ You _ are part of that  _ we _ . You know that. Why can’t you act like it?”

…

“...Because you just got into this,” Luther answered his own question, talking to himself now, “I don’t know what I expected… I just…” he ran a hand through his hair, “...I never should have recruited you…”

Jesus, this is what was ending them? 

Raymond scowled, “Well, you’re f-ckin` fault, then.”

Luther looked him right in the eye. Ray had quite the intimidating appearance to him, but it was all faked. Everything about it was faked. He was just frustrated. He just wanted out of this moment. That was all. 

The gambler put his hat back on. “`Scuse me.” He stepped past the blonde and threw open the door, walking inside. He didn’t look back.

  
  


* * *

  
  


The water was swift. The creek had flooded from last night’s storm, spilling out over its edge as the two boys ran down the side of it. They were close, too close, with mud squishing between their toes as they chased each other, but they didn’t have a care in the world. They were laughing, giggling, having fun. 

The golden field shimmered as the wind created waves in the grass. Infinite miles of crisp, yellow grass. They couldn’t even see their homes over the hill. 

“Raymond!” It was his mother’s voice, over the grass.

One of the boys stopped, turning his head to the source of the noise.

“Raymond!”

He looked back at where he left his friend, but found that he’d disappeared. The sound of a crash in the small waves drew his eyes to the water. There was nothing to be seen.

The boy on land felt sick to his stomach. He was panicking, wondering where his friend had gone. 

His mother beckoned him. “Raymond!”

  
  


* * *

  
  


The gambler woke with a start, breath hitched slightly. His eyes scanned the dark room, finding his bearings. Dim moonlight breaking through the cracks in the curtains, spots on the living room floor glowing with a pale light. 

Raymond sat up, bringing a hand to his forehead. He found a cold sweat on his brow and wiped it away. That nightmare…

He rubbed his face and woke himself up, just a little. It was still late, everybody else was asleep. He knew he should get back to that, too. That nightmare…

He laid back down, taking deep breaths and forcing his eyes shut. He wasn’t tired. Not after that. But he had to sleep.

…

He heard something. It sounded like footsteps, coming from upstairs. No… not footsteps, that was too forceful for footsteps. Rhythmic thumps…

Raymond shot off of the couch, immediately expecting the worst. He didn’t check the door but assumed somebody had gotten into the house and was now rummaging upstairs.

Quietly and quickly, he hopped up the flight, skipping steps as he went. The noise became louder and easier to pinpoint as he got closer. It was down the hall, past Nana’s room. All the doors were closed.

He tiptoed through the house, nervous, afraid that whoever was here was better armed than him. The noise was coming from the very last room to the right: Luther’s room.

Ray took a breath, allowing the possibility of comfort into his mind. Maybe it was just the satanist, up and about.

The thumping continued. He heard a voice. A small, weak tone. Surely that wasn’t Luther…

Raymond put his hand on the doorknob and twisted it, opening the door just a crack. The curtains of his window were wide open, letting in a beam of moonlight that was sprayed over the bedsheets—the only thing Ray was able to see. His friend wasn’t occupying the bed. 

The gambler opened the door slowly, only enough to step through. He peered around the corner and about had a heart attack when he saw the person standing there.

It was Luther, dressed down to his comfort in a shirt and undergarments, standing against the wall. His forehead rested on it, and his hand was balled into a fist, weakly punching the wall. That’s where the thumping came from. 

Raymond looked around the room, ensuring nobody else was with them. 

He noticed that Luther was also speaking. Rather, mumbling. His voice was weak, squeaking, saying something incoherent.

The gambler stepped forward. “Luther?”

The blonde stood straight up in an instant, his head snapping to his left to look  _ through _ Raymond. It scared the everliving hell out of him, but he tried to be calm. “Luther, what are you doing?”

“No! No!” the blonde was shouting, looking at everything and nothing at the same time. He didn’t even seem to notice Raymond.

The gambler spun on his heels, fearing something was behind him. Nothing was there, and his eyes went back to his friend. He was shuffling to the corner, his back sliding against the wall. He was cowering, pointing, “Birds! F-cking doves! They’re here!” He motioned to the side of the furnishing.

Ray didn’t even think, he dashed to the other side of the bed to search for these birds. Luther was clearly terrified of  _ something _ , and all Ray wanted to do was help, but he saw absolutely nothing. It wasn’t like it was too dark to see, no, there was just  _ nothing there _ .

“F-cking doves! F-cking doves!”

Raymond was feeling overwhelmed. How was he supposed to help when he couldn’t do anything?

He turned to the blonde. “What? What doves?”

Luther was trembling, terrified, knees pulled into his body and hands up covering his face. “F-cking doves! F-cking!” he sprung to feet suddenly, wild eyes splitting through Ray in their silver coloration. He ran over to the other side of the room, to a small table with a vase and other small decors. Raymond followed, though stuck a distance behind, and he was glad he did. Luther had grabbed the vase, screamed, “ _ F-cking doves! _ ” and chucked it as hard as he could to his side. He wasn’t aiming for Raymond, but it just about hit him, smashing into pieces against the wall. Ray, trying to dodge, had tripped over himself and hit the wall, now sitting.

The blonde went silent.

He straightened his posture. 

He got back into bed.

And everything was quiet.

Everything besides Raymond. He was breathing heavily. He was stressed. He was scared. Confused.  _ What the hell… _

He didn’t even get up again. He just sat there, listening to Luther’s breathing, scared that he might wake up again. Then what would happen?

He didn’t even want to think of what might have been wrong with that guy. That was something completely backwards…

He didn’t sleep much.

  
  


* * *

  
  


“...Raymond…?”

He lifted his head from resting on his knees, looking up immediately. Luther was at the side of the bed, standing, gazing at the gambler. 

The room was bright with the sun shining through the room. Raymond was still on the floor against the wall, the vase still shattered next to him. He didn’t feel rested at all, his eyes were dry and his head was heavy. 

Luther was just standing there, still dressed down. He must have just woken up. “...You… alright…?”

Raymond blinked. “...Yeah,” a pause, “Are you okay?”

Luther blinked. “Uh…” he looked around, “Yeah…”

“...Where were the doves?”

“...The doves…?”

“You were screamin` `bout doves…” Raymond rubbed his face, “Well… first, you were punchin` the wall… and then you started goin` crazy `bout doves… and then you threw the vase…” he voice was dull. 

Luther looked back and forth. “I… don’t… when?”

“Last night.”

“Was I… drunk?”

“No!” the gambler couldn’t believe he didn’t remember, “You were fine…! You were awake and just… I came up and I didn’t know what to do…!” He put both hands on his head, slumping against the wall.

The blonde looked at the floor for a long moment, like he was thinking.

“Ain’t you rememberin`?”

His head popped back up. That look in his eyes told Ray that he knew everything. “Oh… I… I’m sorry…” he stepped over with bare feet, mindful of the porcelain shards. “Yeah… that happens…”

“What do you mean?” Raymond was desperate for clarity. He’d barely gotten any sleep over this!

“I’ve got… well, I get these every night, I think,” he sat down next to his friend, “I get nightmares and it mixes with sleepwalking…”

It was quiet for a bit. Ray was thinking of the last time he sleepwalked. Hasn’t happened since he was little… It all came around to him hardly believing Luther. There’s no way he could have been sleeping! “But your eyes were wide open. I saw you…!” Ray tried.

“I believe you,” Luther told him, “I just don’t remember them, usually. Unless if they get really bad. That’s when I wake up and it’s just… there… fresh in my head.”

Raymond was scared of the possibilities. “...What’s really bad? Because last night seemed…”

“It can get worse,” the blonde sighed, “I guess… I made a noise and you came up here?”

“Yeah…”

“Hm,” he huffed, “Just… When you hear me, don’t do anything. It usually just makes it worse.”

Ray looked away.

“But if you have to, don’t say anything. Just slowly lead me to bed. It works more times than not.”

There was a long moment of quiet. It was still… awkward from yesterday. They seemed to be trying to ignore it.

“Nana knows I get them. She doesn’t bother with me, usually,” Luther explained, his head tilting to the broken vase. “She didn’t wake up?”

“No,” Ray answered. “This happens every night?”

“Mhm.”

“Why?”

The blonde was quiet for a moment. “I think it’s because of trauma…”

“Trauma?”

“You know, like, stuff that’s happened to you in the past. Bad stuff. It messes you up and gives you little things you have to deal with.”

Of course, the question was asked, “What happened?”

This is where Luther froze again. His eyes had that same look as before, on the couch, those days ago. “I… I’ll tell you later.”

Ray recognized the obvious dodging going on. He didn’t expect Luther to ever tell him anything. He didn’t really mind, either. Hell, it’d probably be better if Ray didn’t know too much about his acquaintance. He had the feeling that it would just put more distance between them. That’s what the gambler told himself, anyway.

“...You were in here the whole night?” Luther asked. 

“Yeah…” Ray responded, “I didn’t know what was goin` on. I thought… I dunno,” he wrapped his arms around his knees, “Just tired, now…”

The blonde half-smiled.

Quiet…

“Ray,” Luther addressed, “I… I know it’s probably way too early for you. But I wanna… talk.”

Ignoring it wasn’t an option anymore. “Okay…” Ray went along with it.

“`Bout yesterday,” the satanist continued, “I… I know I’m not wrong. I don’t think I did anything that idiot didn’t deserve.”

Raymond frowned.

“I was just trying to help you out.”

The gambler huffed, “Yeah, tryna…” he subtly mocked.

“Raymond,” Luther sighed, “That stuff is gonna have to happen sometimes.”

Ray didn’t respond.

“I know you don’t like it because of… well, just because of how you are,” he sighed, “But you hate those gamblers, right? Harris and his guys?”

A shrug, “I dunno.”

The blonde frowned, “Ray…” he leaned against him, “It’s okay to hate somebody.”

There was no response.

“Christ, I feel like I’m talking to a four-year-old,” Luther grumbled. Ironic, how Ray felt the same way. “The hell are you hooked up on?”

“I think you’d know. You seem to know everythin` `bout me,” he pushed the satanist off, “Gettin` into my head, knowin` things I’ve never said. It’s creepy.”

At first, he thought that’d be the end of the conversation. Luther wasn’t saying anything. They were both just staring off into the room. Maybe one of them would stand up and walk away. God, Raymond hoped so.

“...You’re forcing yourself to live by your mama’s morals, yeah?”

Ray shook his head, “...stop…” he squeaked.

“To try to make up for what you did?”

“Stop,” he growled, making the motion to stand.

Luther grabbed his arm. His eyes gazed deeply into the gambler’s, their blue coloration as deep as the ocean. Raymond stayed still. “You came here to forget about that, didn’t you?”

A pause.

“You can’t hang onto that anymore,” Luther continued, “They’re gone. All gone. And you left them. Nobody’s gonna be mad at you anymore.”

Ray tried to keep his face straight and emotionless. But his brow lowered, and his nose scrunched up, and he had to bite his lip. He looked away from his friend with a sorrow forming deep in his bones. It boiled in his gut and rose up to his throat, killing any hunger or fatigue that affected him at the moment. 

“You don’t have to worry about preserving any sort of personal image,” Luther said, “You don’t have to hold anything back, anymore.” 

Raymond shook his head. “It ain’t that easy.”

“I never said it was gonna be.”

The gambler put his face in his hands—hands that were scuffed from the day before. Hands that stung.

“You don’t have to worry…” Luther repeated, “You know you don’t.”

It was that lingering thought… of his sister and his town knowing exactly what Raymond was doing. To him, they already knew he was wrapped up in this pagan business; they already knew about his greed and his selfishness; they already knew about everything he’d done. He was trying to make up for it. He was trying to be a bigger person. But it was just making him worse, wasn’t it? Just one big hypocrite, wasn’t he?

...Why was he with Luther? He suddenly felt doubt and drawback. What brought him to…? Oh. Right. He owed that satanist for saving his life. He also wanted to show others that he wasn’t going to be messed with so easily. That speech Luther gave him in the underground base had inspired him enough to go through with the decision, even though every rational instinct told him to leave. Don’t let others get the best of you, don’t let them beat you down.

But he was a hypocrite. He wanted that confidence to defend himself and yet he was silent and idle yesterday. And then he put Luther in the wrong for defending him. For helping him. For doing what he’d promised.

His hands stung worse as a nervous sweat spread over his face. He should have pulled them away, but he didn’t want to face the blonde. He didn’t want to face the change. His change. They burned. 

He thought about last night, how he had that dream, and how Luther had these… terrors. What did that to him? His religion? Would Ray end up like that? Screaming about doves and whatever else?

A hand was placed on his thigh. It didn’t tap or tick. Just comforted.

Why did he feel… safer…?

The moment went on without another word contributing to their conversation. The blonde moved on and offered Raymond his bed to sleep. He knew that his friend could see the deprivation in his face, and he felt petty. 

Luther cleaned up the mess as Ray made himself comfortable. The satanist got dressed, closed the curtains, bid the gambler a restful sleep, and left the room. 

He’d smiled. Luther had. A grin that seemed familiar, like it was forced, but Ray knew that wasn’t it.

The gambler laid onto the soft surface. He sighed. His eyes were still dry and his head still heavy but he didn’t feel tired. He stared up at the ceiling. Too aware to sleep, but at the same time too drowsy to think. 

He turned onto his side, all of the room in the world to stretch out and get comfortable—and yet he just couldn’t. There was a fold in his shirt that prodded his side or an itch that he struggled to reach. He was either too hot or too cold, the room was getting brighter. He struggled for a bit.

The sheets smelled like his friend. No particular scent, just very familiar. He tried to find comfort in that. It worked after some time.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Nana was informed of everything. She didn’t have much comment on the two satanists in particular but cast plenty of insults at the drunkard who offended Raymond. It was easy to see she was on Luther’s side with this one. 

Throughout the day, those two got on better terms. They didn’t talk specifically about the incident or anything relating to it, but everything they did throughout the day seemed to help each other or put the other in brighter spirits. Whether it was the blonde teasing Ray or the gambler giving his input on Luther’s wardrobe, they found themselves as children just having fun. 

It started to rain. The storm was rough and icy cold. They couldn’t light the fire and as the frosty air seeped into the home, so Luther grabbed all the blankets he could find and threw himself onto Ray. They laughed and wrestled on the couch, and when they calmed the blonde jokingly wrapped his arms around the gambler and whispered random and meaningless noises just to get a laugh. Nana was in a chair separate from them, knitting with heavier clothes on. Eventually, she fell asleep. When she did, Luther asked a simple question.

“Are you alright?” he whispered to Raymond.

“Yeah,” he answered without thinking. But the arms around his midsection tightened, and he remembered their talk. “...Yeah,” he repeated, but in a different manner.

He knew Luther was gazing at him with those blue eyes.

“Listen…” Ray sighed, “I… I’ll let you do what you want. I’m not responsible for you, I get it…” a pause, “And I’mma try to do what you said I oughta do. I’m gonna try.”

The blonde smiled. Ray could see it out of the corner of his eye. The same one from earlier; the gambler realized what it was: hopeful pity. The satanist smiled, wishing for Raymond to grow his way. “That’s all I need.”

They didn’t move from their joking position. It seemed too out-of-place to do that, now. Even though their closeness was usually something to be ignored or ostracized if done in legitimacy, they didn’t seem to care. And then, they were asleep.

  
  


* * *

  
  


They were out in the city, again, having a break. It’d been about a week, Raymond hadn’t seen the sun in what felt like years, and he needed this. To be fair, the city was plagued by two massive storms, which didn’t do so much damage as it made puddles and messes in the streets. Going out during that wouldn’t have been fun, anyhow. 

The satanists were casually walking down the street, aimlessly; they would pick a few treats from the market stalls or peer inside store windows at what they had presented.

“You think I need a suit?” Luther asked.

“Why?”

“I like yours. I think I might need something like it.”

Ray grinned, “We ain’t doin` much. We could go to the tailor.”

“Nah, that’s clear on the other end of town,” he peered about as people walked by them, “I think there's a fancy shop just `round the corner, here.”

“Really, you should go to the tailor,” Raymond shrugged, “He’s got good taste.”

“Oh, he picked that out for you?”

“I had to approve of it, but yeah, essentially.”

“Eh. I might not even want a suit. Don’t wanna eat up his time.”

“You’re a casualty waiting to happen,” Ray poked fun, “Make up your mind.”

“I’ll make it up when I want,” Luther elbowed him.

They wandered down the street, enjoying the cool air as autumn subtly settled upon the city. Days ago, the summer heat had ravished laborers and fields, but with the storm, life was brought to the dying crops. The humidity was torturous that morning, so the two waited for early afternoon to go out. Now the wind was crisp and gave their skin pleasant goosebumps.

Raymond had come to terms with Luther’s temper. Nothing had happened as of late, nothing since the drunkard incident, which may have been the only reason why the gambler was alright with it. Time heals wounds. He told himself differently, of course, trying to convince himself that he was a new person now and anything he did here in miserable Las Vegas wouldn’t get back to his hometown.

They were friends again. Studying together, hadn’t been to the underground base for days. There were times when Raymond forgot that their main mission was indeed their pagan religion. 

The two of them found a small clothing shop for all people of all ages and walked inside. There were brightly colored dresses with amazingly intricate trims and fluffy skirts; others simply white or blue and loose for comfort. There were tight clothes and top hats for men, with every thread stitched with immense care; then those that were simply throw-on clothes for a lazy day. Children’s clothes didn’t have much variety, they all looked fairly the same with their little hats and striped trousers. Upon the counter were small ornaments and gadgets—braces and necklaces and watches. Luther was peering about, searching for anything that may interest him, and Ray hovered around him, not caring much. His eyes scanned over the counter at the pocket watches, some gold, some bronze, some silver.

There was one… He recognized it. It was the same size and style as Mr. Harris’ watch. Silver with a long chain and swirls embedded into the covering. Ray turned his head away and continued to trail his friend, grimacing at the image of Harris’ face.

The door opened.

Speak of the Devil…

The overhanging bell had rung, spiking Raymond’s attention for a glance. And when he did indeed glance, he saw the fantastically bruised face of a hardly familiar man and the revenge-seeking face of a very familiar one. Robert Harris had just walked in, his sharp eyes scanning through the store. The man with the busted face caught wind of Raymond instantly, pointing and scowling, “There he f-ckin` is, eh!”

Luther did not pop his head up. He didn’t even look in that direction. He just took hold of the gambler’s arm and pulled him to the wall of the shop, inching his way for the door.

Slurs were fired as the angry man stumbled through the racks hanging with clothes. Raymond almost wanted to stop and confront the guy, but Luther seemed dead-set on slipping out of here like a rat. His pitiful plan didn’t even come close to working—Mr. Harris had cut them off. Luther still tried to move past as if he didn’t notice him.

Harris put a hand on the man’s chest, stopping him. “Excuse me,” he hissed.

The blonde raised his chin and seemed surprised at this newcomer’s presence. “Oh, hello,” he half-smiled, “Need something?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, you vazey ratbag!”

The gambler’s eyes widened at that, puffing up his chest to help out his friend, but a hand snagged his coat from behind. He turned to find the man with the busted face taking a sloppy swing at him. It hit Ray in the chest and he pushed back, only keeping the man at bay rather than hurting him. From this angle, he could see the shop owner duck behind the counter.

Harris named insults at Ray, shouting, “That animal of yours beat the everliving hell out of my cousin, don’t you see?”

Raymond was listening to Mr. Harris only halfway, being that he had to awkwardly wrestle his attacker to ensure he wouldn’t get hit. He hardly registered what had been said. 

But he  _ did _ hear Luther’s mocking laugh, very out-of-place for the circumstances they were in. “You think that  _ he _ beat your ass-backwards cousin? That idiot you call family is worth about another six kicks to the gullet,” the blonde shoved Harris as hard as he could, sending him stumbling back and catching a rack, falling. Luther then snatched the drunkard’s arm and yanked him away from Raymond, throwing the clumsy man onto Mr. Harris. “And you’ll be worth twice that if you don’t leave us alone!”

Harris pushed the drunkard off of him, standing. Ray thought for sure there’d be a brawl, but it didn’t seem like anything more than a spineless argument. “You bitches attacked my cousin on the street—”

“Even if that were anything close to the truth, how do you even trust that half-minded drunkened gibface to keep the story straight?” Luther exclaimed.

“I’ve f-cking had it with you!” Harris stomped, “I swear to God, I thought you would have been a decent man! I should have known you were up to something when you declined my offer on beating this bitch’s black ass to the ground!” he waved his hand wildly towards Raymond, who tensed and felt inclined to hurt him, but didn’t know if he could bring himself to do it. He hesitated.

“I’ll leave you with a warning,” Harris threatened, pointed at the blonde, then to the gambler, “If I catch you two doing  _ anything _ extravagant, I’ll be sure to send you a real message. You goddamn hear?”

“Hope it’s something more than this measly excuse of a threat,” Luther hissed, tapping Raymond as he strode past. Ray followed, keeping up with the satanist's quick pace. 

They were out on the pavement, and the blonde obviously wasn’t happy. He was huffing and puffing, but all-the-while relatively quiet and straight-faced. The gambler was honestly frightened of this man’s silent fury, unclear of what he was thinking, not knowing what he could do. He tried to match it from a different viewpoint. “The nerve of those bastards!” Ray cursed, “Who the hell do they think they are, comin` in on us like that? Threatenin` us?”

Luther shook his head. “They—well, rather— _ he _ , Harris, is the big shot of this city,” he sighed, “He’s from the east, he’s rich, he’s looking for profit. Nobody wants to piss him off because who the hell knows what kind of damnation he’ll put you through,” a pause, “Jesus Christ, I guess we’ll find out.”

Ray wanted to run. Not out of fear of what might happen, but because he was so full of energy and adrenaline and he needed to let it out. He could have screamed. “What the hell are the chances that was his damn cousin?”

“None,” Luther grumbled, “That bitch wasn’t related to the guy. Just paid him off, I bet. Lots of people are recognizing our faces, and lots of people know that Harris wants us gone.”

“The whole city’s wantin` us dead?” Raymond was appalled.

“I don’t think they realize that they’re helping him dig our graves. They only want us out of the city.”

“Well… let’s go, then. Can’t we just leave?”

The blonde was quiet for a moment, thinking. “...I don’t know. We could, but I don’t wanna leave Nana with any mess. Don’t want her getting in trouble for this. Plus, the base is here, I can’t just move it that easily.”

Ray stared at the ground.

“We’re just gonna need to find a way around this.”

The gambler raised his head, “Why don’t you just use your… abilities,” Ray wasn’t sure what to discreetly call his weird happenings, “and get rid of them while we can?”

“Can’t do that, Ray,” Luther shrugged, “We have to keep that private, not open.”

“We do it in secret.”

“What would people think if Harris and his boys all of the sudden disappeared? They’d immediately blame us without any proof.”

Raymond shook his head. “This is a mess…”

“Yeah.”

They kept walking in the quiet. It wasn’t a polite silence, it was only something for their minds to gnaw at like animals while they tried to think up a plan. What to do…

“You know,” the satanist began, “We could send him a message.”

Ray only thought he meant beating the hell out of the guy. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Whatever backwards-thought process going on in Luther’s head wasn’t making sense to him.

“You haven’t even heard my idea.”

The gambler waited.

“Weren’t we supposed to get back at Harris in a gamble? We could win, take his money, that’ll be a nice push.”

“I ain’t no good.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Luther grinned, “Our  _ friends _ are.”

Raymond almost missed it. He didn’t comment.

“Nobody gets hurt. Just some playful revenge. We’ll talk more about it at home.”

“...I s`pose.” The gambler caught a glimpse of an animal down the sidewalk from them. It was a dog—a large one—with big ears and a droopy face. Its fur was matted and dirty, and the thing was skinny. Must have been a stray. It was staring right at them, not moving, not even paying mind to anyone else who walked by. 

They walked closer without fault, and eventually, the dog turned and trotted away.


	7. Warranting Paranoia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hebrews 9:22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a second!  
> For those who’d rather not read it, this chapter contains some uncomfortable themes and graphic imagery.   
> That’ll be all,,,

It’d been maybe a month more. Raymond was hitting the books pretty hard the past few weeks, doing his best to quickly move along with their little quest for  _ playful revenge _ as Luther had named it. Nana was in no way concerned, completely oblivious to their whole plan. There hadn’t been a confrontation since the shop incident, and they still hadn’t been to the underground base.

But today was a special day. The first days of autumn brought colder weather, more days inside. More days to practice. More days for Raymond Earnest to understand all of the mysterious, more days to read through the demonic book—which he did. They were heading for the base tonight. 

Nana was asleep upstairs. She didn’t know that Luther and Raymond were going to be leaving that night. 

The two of them were in the blonde’s room, Ray on the bed and flipping through the pages of the demonic book. It told tales of greatly ancient demons and their personal experiences with mortals—Asmodeus plaguing a virgin named Sarah to kill seven perverted grooms; Belphegor causing the deaths of 24,000 mortals by the hand of Moses; Belial appearing in the dark of one’s own home, only to rip the victim apart and drag their souls to hell. These stories were brief and covered only a pitiful fraction of the book. The bulk of these pages came from demons summonings, the best demons to summon depending on your experience, the side-effects and promises of summoning, etc. Surprisingly enough to Raymond, none of this scared him much. He may have still been trying to process everything, not taking these words too seriously in an unconscious attempt to keep himself calm. 

“Alright,” Luther began, speaking quietly, “We’re gonna hop over and grab some more books for you to read.”

“What about? Don’t I just need this one?”

“You’re gonna learn some things about our patron and about a particular demon I’ve summoned before.”

“Nothing big tonight, then?” Raymond closed the book, swinging his legs off the bed.

“Probably. Just a quick run. I want you to come so you can get more acquainted with the place—I know it’s been a while. We’ll start to be down there more often.”

Ray stood, lifting the satchel and storing the book away. He threw the strap over his shoulder and stood next to Luther. 

They walked out of the house, through the subdivision, navigating the dark streets. The walk there was uneventful. 

When entering the alleyway, Raymond recognized that familiar feeling as they climbed the wall. Every time was easier than the last—especially this go-around, being that the gambler had left his coat and hat at home (a bad idea in cool weather, but good for now).

They opened the hatch and made their way down, the darkness consuming all vision until Luther simply walked in far enough to make the candles burst to life in their golden glory. Ray tried to focus on anything that felt different, but seemingly nothing was off. This was a nearly-normal place on the surface.

The blonde went for the bookcases while the gambler remembered the bird, going to the table with the cage and removing the satchel from his shoulder. Peering through the bars he saw the tiny verdin still there, unmoving. It didn’t even appear to be breathing… in fact, it looked dead. Skinny with matted feathers, it was limp, yet stiff. Its wings were slightly spread over the base of the cage, its head resting—and yet, it was as if it had been frozen from the cold that bit this room. 

Raymond lowered his brow, frowning. “Luther,” he sighed, “Bird’s dead.”

The blonde wasn’t concerned. “No it isn’t,” he was dragging his finger over dozens of books, searching.

“I’m not kiddin`,” Ray tried.

“I know you aren’t,” Luther responded, “C`mere.”

The gambler did as he was told, walking over to his friend. Luther paused his objective and took a step over to a wooden tabletop, pulling a chair, and pushed Ray into it. He then walked away and rummaged through a large storage chest—flipping the lid up, Raymond saw  _ many _ knives and daggers, all fastened to the underside of the lid. He tensed greatly when Luther plucked one of them from its belt. 

“Wasn’t in my plans. I probably shouldn’t be doing this,” the blonde spun on his heels to face the gambler, running his finger along the side of the golden-looking blade. It was a tall and skinny tool with a slight curve, the blade coming to a dangerously sharp point that glimmered in the soft light. “But you don’t even have one thing to show off, yet. It’ll be okay.” He stepped on over to the gambler, taking Ray’s arm and setting his hand palm-down on the table.

“What’re you doin`?” he asked, nervous.

“Raymond,” Luther was behind him and gingerly placed his hand upon the man’s shoulder, tickling up past his neck and to his cheek. The scene flipped on its head, suddenly intimate—something the gambler remembered the satanist had done before. He was still as Luther leaned over, head next to his, hand under his chin. “You don’t have to worry…”

The gambler felt a lump in his throat. Something was about to happen, something sinister. He could feel it in the air, crawling over his skin like a million hairy legs of thousands of cockroaches. They were in his hair, between his legs, on his eyes. It was such a feeling of discomfort that he felt but couldn’t react to. The bugs were there but… not. 

His hand, on the table; the palm and back itched. He brought it closer to him to scratch, but pale fingers wrapped around his wrist and gently set it back on the table. He kept his hand there, digits spread between Ray’s. The blonde was now standing next to the sitting gambler, left hand over Raymond’s right. Silver eyes looked back at deep brown ones. “Trust me?”

The itching became worse. He wanted to move, to relieve himself of this discomfort, to scratch up and down his body. The cockroaches invaded every surface, every crevice. He could hear them in his ears, squeaking, hissing, creaking. They were crawling down his throat, inside of him, filling up his stomach, his lungs, flooding his throat and falling from his tongue. His mouth was not open. He could feel them in the heat of his trousers, a sense of extreme violation surging through him. He could feel  _ all _ of it, yet he couldn’t. He couldn’t see them or touch them or hear them, but he could. They must have been under his clothes—a thought of springing from the chair and ripping all his garments off seemed like a brilliant idea, but he  _ couldn’t move _ . He was voluntarily still but needed to move. Needed to itch. To scratch. To tear his skin and rip away the nerves and sensors that forced him to feel this awfulness.

And then he saw Luther. He’d been looking at him this entire time, but finally,  _ truly _ saw him. An overwhelming sense of comfort vibrated off of that man, and Ray knew that he  _ didn’t have to worry _ .

“I trust you.”

Luther was smiling. 

The dagger was raised over his head, aimed for the back of his own hand that was stacked atop his friend’s.

The gambler’s insanity was replaced by a cumbersome pain—sharp, sharp pain that split through skin and muscle and bone as Luther stabbed through both of their hands. Ray shouted, groaning and howling like an animal as he kicked the chair out from under him, now crouching. He’d pulled, hoping to free himself, but the knife was embedded into the table beneath and still being held by Luther, so he only cut into himself more. There was no pulling up or down, either, his hand was flanked. Incredibly hot and thick liquid pooled, spreading through the creases in his hand, traveling to the end of the table and dripping off. It stung, sure, but the  _ throbbing _ was the worst part about it. It felt like his hand had turned to a pulsing heart, the rhythm forceful and full of pressure, about to burst with every beat but instead shoving all the pain down his arm and to his brain. Raymond cursed, clenching his jaw and hissing through bare teeth, hanging over the table. He had to stand, he  _ had _ to, the blade was only cutting further and further. He hopped to his toes, his free hand clutching his trapped arm, whimpering and gasping in utter torture. He wanted to take the blonde’s arm and rip it away from him, just to pull the knife away. Just to get it out from between the prison bars of bones and tendons. 

He saw Luther. He looked him in the eye.

The satanist was smiling. That genuine smile, that real smile… so out of place. He didn’t even tick from the pain.

Emotional eyes stared down at the stack of hands, stabbed through the middle, wishing the pain would end. He saw wine-red blood fall like wax over pale-white skin, staining it. He could feel the wetness between the top of his hand and the blonde’s palm. It was starting to overflow, squishing out from the sides. 

Through the shock, through the groans of pain, through the overstimulation, Ray noticed that the discomfort was starting to subside. Was the initial pain staling? No… No, it was starting to feel better. Like there was no knife in his hand, even though it was very clear that there was. 

The process was slow, and he hung his head. The silence was only broken by his whines and squeaks, and he longed for anything else to happen. The pain to disappear completely, the knife to be pulled, Luther’s soft voice… anything. 

His heavy skull swayed, his chin pressing into his sternum, shoulder blades jutting under his skin. He took deep breaths, deep breaths…

It felt like his hand was only being touched by Luther’s. The only contact was the man brushing shoulders with him. The only pain was the pit in his gut. Deep breaths…

Movement. Straight up, pressure being removed from his hand. He watched closely as the red blade slowly wiggled up and out of the slit through both of them, some blood being recollected as it slid over meat. It didn’t even hurt.

The blonde’s fingers curled and held onto the gambler’s, lifting his arm up at a bend. Blood trickled down his wrist and stained the trim of his shirt, seeping into the material and standing out like a sore thumb. 

Luther brought Ray’s palm to his face, placing his lips upon the other’s hand, staring right into the gambler’s eyes. Raymond nearly pulled away, but the unbefitting kiss ended quickly. Their grip began to loosen. 

There were hardly any words said. Well, unless you counted the unmistakable, “ _ What the f-ck? _ ” that emitted from Raymond’s mouth.

“You said you trusted me,” Luther shrugged, and let go. His hand was freed, at last. He looked down at it and immediately regretted it, finding a pulsing crimson fountain spurting from the slit. He couldn’t look away, though, only scrunching his nose. He could see the glossy white of bone, and prodded at the painless wound, gently pulling the skin back to see further. His fingers were shaking and when he tried to curl them he was unable to. They would twitch once but never bend. 

“Try to fix that,” Luther told him.

Raymond felt like he could talk now. A gate to reasoning with the unexplainable suddenly opened. He tried to find his words but stumbled. “I—You—” he brought his hands to his chest, “What the hell was that? What’d you do that for?”

“Don’t get angry on me now, it’s already been done,” the blonde shrugged, “It’s not hurting, is it?”

“No.”

“Then try to fix it.”

“ _ How? _ ”

“Just think about it,” he wasn’t facing the gambler. He looked at his own bloodied, dripping hand, and the wound began to close. It was hard to recognize through the sickening amount of thick fluid pouring from the cut, but when it stopped flowing Ray instantly knew what happened.

He wanted his hand to be fixed. That might be helpful, you know, to be able to use your dominant hand. Were their wrappings around that he’d forgotten about? At least a basin to clean up in? He glanced back down at his hand. 

It was closing.

Ray watched, going blank in the head for a moment. When he did, the half-closed wound ceased to heal anymore. He wanted to watch it seal completely. The regeneration continued again. He watched in awe as the muscle and vessels reconnected, fusing together in strings like thick, gorey spiderwebs, getting thicker and more plentiful until they filled the gap and skin spread over the hole. There was no scar. Only the remaining blood that had already been spilled, now just a puddle in his palm, drying in flakes. He curled his fingers without fault.

Luther was very close, and Raymond didn’t even realize it until he felt him. Flesh touched flesh as the blonde grasped the gambler’s hand, mixing blood and sharing a smile that Ray did not have. “Go pick up that bird…” he suggested.

Raymond was still for a moment longer, processing the message. He kept eye contact as he stepped away from the satanist, slowly proceeding to the cage.

He opened the latch very carefully. He reached in without disturbing the state of the cage. Cautiously and gingerly, he lifted the dead animal. It fit into the bloodied palm of his hand, and he folded its limp wings at its sides. He felt awful holding this dead animal, only wishing it would wake. 

Suddenly, the verdin tensed. It was wobbly in Raymond’s grasp, trembling and shivering, but alive. It shook its head quickly, ruffled its feathers, and settled into the giant grabbers that held it. It slept.

Ray let out a breath that had been trapped in his lungs. It hit the feathers and moved them slightly, but didn’t disturb the animal. He was shocked, dumbfounded, and he was having trouble processing and reacting. Bloodied feathers dried.

“You’ll be able to fix some smaller wounds,” Luther said, “And take a toll on small animals. Nothing too special for now, just some nifty tricks.”

The gambler was probably more surprised at how normal this all was to Luther.  _ Nothing special _ ? What could be more special than reversing damage and controlling living creatures? What could be more special than rebelling against Mother Nature? Rebelling against God?

“The bird’s fine, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Luther hissed, “Sometimes they just die. We can both fix it though, so it’s okay.”

Ray sighed harshly, “I ain’t worried `bout the damn bird,” he said, gently putting it back in its cage. 

“Then what?”

“I…! I dunno,” he huffed, “This is… so bizarre. I dunno how this is even possible.  _ None of this _ should be possible!” 

Luther chortled, “And yet, here we are.”

Raymond shook his head. “I don’t know why me bein` upset is funny to you.”

The blonde bit his lip and twisted his head. “Do you want me to take them back? The powers? Do you  _ not _ wanna have the upper hand in everyday life?”

“I…” he paused and remembered where he was. He remembered who he was talking to. He remembered why he was doing this. “...No. I want them. I just…” he looked away, “I wanna know. What  _ all _ can you do? What all are you gonna let me do? Is  _ this _ gonna affect me?”

The blonde was grinning. “You’re worried you’re gonna end up like me, right?”

Ray denied, “That ain’t what I said.”

“That’s what you think, though. Isn’t it?” he shrugged, “It’s okay. I get it. I’m all kinds of messed up.”

“Luther,” the gambler tried.

“Listen,” the satanist stopped him, “What’s happened to me will  _ never _ happen to you. The stuff that makes me drum my fingers, takes me out of the moment, makes me run around at night… none of that is from  _ this _ ,” he explained, “So don’t worry.”

Ray was frowning. “...Why are you like that, then?”

The blonde raised his chin. “When you’re completely comfortable with me, maybe I’ll tell you.”

The gambler showed his teeth, frustrated. “Christ, enough with that! Everything I ask for has to be ‘waited for,’” he argued, “What’s holdin` me back? What specifically? Why do you keep dodgin` me? Why can’t I just  _ know? _ ”

Luther let him proceed with his fit, his smug expression unchanging. 

He didn’t want to wait. “ _ Why can’t I just know? _ ” he echoed. His voice left remains of hisses as it bounced off the walls, and silence befell them.

“Raymond,” Luther addressed, “You know  _ why _ you can’t ‘just know’?” He picked up the satchel and stepped away to the bookshelf. The gambler was still. “It’s because of how you are. Anytime something happens to you that you don’t like or that upsets you, you freeze up. You shut down.”

“Everybody does that, though.”

“No, you  _ shut down _ . You’re like a living statue at that point, physically unable to react. I’ve seen it. I’ve been there when you go braindead.”

Ray shook his head.

“Truth is, you already ‘just know.’ You know way more than anybody else in this city does. Might not feel like it, but you’re so ahead of the game. You know that you have more capabilities than Harris and his friends—you might not know what those capabilities  _ specifically _ are, but just realizing you have them is enough for now.

“Truth is, you ‘just know’ a lot. And you’ll ‘just know’ later. But you can’t have everything thrown onto you all at once. I won’t let that happen. It’ll hurt you more than it’ll help you.” He had chosen a number of three books, slipping them into the satchel. “Truth is, I  _ don’t _ want you to end up like me. I jumped into this business, and I went full speed. I shouldn’t have. It messed me up, amongst other things. I don’t want you to potentially have to go through the same sh-t I have to.”

Ray looked down at his feet.

“Truth is,” Luther walked over to Raymond, lowering his voice, “I like you, Mr. Earnest. I don’t want to see you fail. And I want to keep you close.”

The gambler looked up and at the satanist.

“Surely you can understand that?”

He took a breath. He let it out. He felt his body relax and his mind stop spinning. He wanted to talk but couldn’t, he was just… frozen. Like Luther had said. The blonde was right, he’d realized.

The satanist didn’t wait for a response. “C`mon,” he nudged the gambler, “Let’s head home. Get cleaned up.” He took the satchel.

Raymond didn’t follow him at first. He was looking back at the cage—the bird, specifically. The sleeping bird, only living in a false state, just to die again. Just to die again…

He looked over to the table that he’d been stabbed at. The blood had dried quickly, being absorbed into the wood and hiding in the cracks of the stone floor, but the evidence of what happened was still obviously there.

He looked down at his hand, healed over. It… It had to have been something with Luther’s blood. Maybe… something doctors… didn’t…

He closed his eyes. He didn’t know. There was no way of knowing. He turned and followed Luther to the ladder. 

They went over the wall and out of the alleyway, down the street in silence.

They didn’t notice the man with the silver watch catch wind of their leave. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Raymond was standing in front of Luther’s door, the golden-orange lighting licking the side of his face from the window at the end of the hall. It was early morning, the sun was barely rising. It was rare to catch the gambler up this early, but he couldn’t sleep. After they got back home he felt something off, like something was going to come back and bite them. He slept, but not heavily, and not long. He woke up around four in the morning and couldn’t fall back asleep. He just laid on the couch and thought.

He thought about many things. But nothing took up more of his time than what Luther said. About how that satanist wanted to… protect him. They didn’t even talk to each other for the rest of the night, they just got home and went to bed. 

Raymond had to talk to his friend. He had to. It’d been a near hour since he woke. It was gnawing at his brain.

The gambler knocked on the door, sighing. 

This was probably a bad idea.

There was no answer.

He knocked again.

What was he doing? Why was he waking him up? To talk? Just to talk?

No answer.

“Luther?”

He felt awful for disturbing his friend. He wanted to run away, jump down the stairs, and flee to the couch. Pretend to be asleep. Pretend to have never woken up. But he  _ had _ to talk to him… 

The handle turned. 

The door opened. 

That slim, handsome face was there. His curly hair was ruffled and he clearly appeared tired. He immediately met eyes with the gambler on the other side of the door, opening it slightly more. “...Hey…”

“Hey…” Ray responded, “Sorry. I… I shouldn’t be up here, this is dumb. But…” he folded his arms, “Can we talk?”

Luther looked him up and down. “...Yeah,” he stepped aside, letting the gambler pass through the doorway.

With his head down and tail between his legs, Raymond stepped inside. He didn’t know what to say. He felt sick. He felt clammy. He didn’t even know why, either—it wasn’t like he was confessing anything. It wasn’t like there was this big secret about him. It wasn’t like he had anything to hide…

“You’re… up early,” the blonde commented quietly, closing the door.

“I know. I’m surprised, too,” he tried to stall.

Luther rubbed his face. “Well, uhm…”

Raymond noticed he was dressed down again. Not surprising, but… he didn’t know.

“What’s it you wanna talk about?” 

The gambler was upset. Balled up. Quiet. He couldn’t look his friend in the eye. 

The blonde noticed the obvious awkwardness that radiated off of Ray. He stepped close and gently laid his hand upon the man’s bicep, rubbing his arm. He pushed him down to the bed, making him sit, and placed himself next to the gambler. They were very close, Luther just waiting for an answer, his patient eyes shimmering in their blue hue. 

“I guess I wanna apologize…” Raymond choked out. And to his surprise, he caught a smile on Luther’s face. He was nearing laughter. “What…?” 

“What are you sorry for?”

Ray blinked. “For bein` so difficult.”

“I stabbed you in the hand,” he chuckled, “You deserve to be difficult.”

“I—” he bit his tongue, “ _ What? _ ” he shook his head, “No?”

“There you go again, being difficult,” the satanist teased. 

Raymond was both disappointed and relieved that this conversation hadn’t played into a deeply solemn note. Well, not yet anyway. He tried to put it back on track. “Luther…” he looked him in the face, “You know what I mean.”

The blonde looked at him longingly.

“I… Listen, I don’t care what you do. I told you I trusted you. I still do, even though…” he relived the moment of the stabbing, how the pain shot through his arm—the same way a bee would inject venom into her victim, “...your methods are a lil` more than questionable.” He shook the feeling off. “I just… I feel obligated to make your life easier. You saved mine, and you’re doin` a lot for me…” he sighed, “I don’t wanna be makin` your life any harder.”

The blonde leaned against him. His body was warm like a fireplace and his skin was smooth like cotton. His soft and curly hair brushed against Ray’s cheek, tickling his face. “Raymond…” his voice was clear and quiet and welcoming. Everything about him at this moment was so comforting. No, not even at this moment, at any moment. Even when he was relaxed and shouldn’t have been, even when he was angry, even when he was stabbing the gambler through the hand; it all seemed to be for some kind of betterment. When Raymond was frightened, Luther was calm and encouraged relaxation. When Raymond was threatened, Luther would get even for the sake of the gambler. When Raymond was being hurt personally by this seemingly-psychotic man, there was this overstimulating sense that things would turn out okay. When he was with Luther, everything seemed like it would eventually be alright in the world if not already. He held onto that thought as his friend continued, “If you think I’m upset with you, I’m not.” 

Ray sighed.

“You’re way too good for me, you know that? You make my job amazingly easy. You know how I went to Greece? I saw  _ real _ frustration.  _ Real _ anger. My friend had an apprentice of his own, and he was… ha…” he had Raymond’s hand in his, playing with his fingers, “He tried to kill me and his teacher. A pathetic attempt, I’m okay,” he assured, “He wasn’t used much for powers, after that. More for possessions,” he squeezed the gambler’s palm, “Anyway… You should know that you’re one of the best out there. Stable-minded, confused, but completely ready.”

Raymond felt grateful, but… was that all Luther thought about him? That he was a good example? 

“I’m happy I got you…”

Ray was completely missing the signs. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


It was later in the day, sometime just before lunch. Nana was in her chair, busy with crocheting a gift for her husband for when he’d return. Luther was taking a nap next to Raymond, who sat on the couch reading one of the books from last night. He was comfortable reading in front of Nana—the book was all in Greek and the cover mimicked that of a history book on the western world, with a picture of ox-drawn carriages carrying nobles on the front. This was done on purpose to trick others into thinking the book was nothing more than boring—it had tricked Raymond at first. But upon reading into it, he realized it was far different. It told of accounts of possessions and strange occurrences, picking apart the psychology of Christian priests versus Satanic priests, certain rituals, sacrifices, and other things that could be dug deep into. 

A knock at the door interrupted his reading, and he closed the book. “I’ll get it,” he said as Luther was waking, and Nana thanked him from her seat. 

Ray stood and set the book on the armrest, heading for the door. He opened it without much care, but his blood ran cold when he saw who was on the other side.

“Knew it,” Mr. Harris said under his breath, “That’s one of them.”

Robert Harris was behind a couple of policemen, the two officers dressed in black, fancy clothing, tall hats, and taller boots. One wore a thick mustache, the other had lambchop-sideburns, both of the men right around the same height of Raymond. 

“Uhm,” Ray cleared his throat, “Trouble?”

“In a sense,” the man with the mustache responded.

Luther had stood, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he walked up to the door. Nana was standing, too, but stayed back. The blonde nudged Raymond out of the way. 

“There’s the other one!” Harris pointed, baring his teeth.

The officer with the stache ignored him. “We’ve been getting some complaints two men with your descriptions have been trespassing in the private park at the west end of town,” he explained in his monotone voice.

Luther was quick to speak, “The park?” he looked over his shoulder at Raymond, “Doesn’t the Clay family own that?” 

Ray realized he was playing. The gambler gave a small shrug.

“Who’s been complaining? I know Edward Clay. Have you relayed to him?”

The same officer ignored the last two questions. “This kind sir has said to have seen you multiple times. You have relations.” The policeman seemed to be disappointed that this is what his job boiled down to: trying to fix city drama like a father attempting to make his children get along.

Luther cocked his head to the side. “We’ve met?”

“Yes!” Mr. Harris burst, “And I saw you and him last night! Coming over the wall!”

“Why would we go over the wall? There’s a gate.”

“Don’t play dumb with me!”

“Alright, alright,” the officer calmed him, “Tone it back.”

Luther was looking politely annoyed. “Sirs, I’m sorry, you have the wrong house. And I’m not liking these accusations much. Who are you to disturb a man and his family on a perfect day?”

Harris’ face was becoming increasingly red. It started with his ears and cheeks, only spreading more.

“If we know each other,” Luther stood up straight, crossing his arms, “What’s my name, sir?”

This was the kicker. Raymond remembered Luther saying that they’d never told him their names. Harris’ face was beginning to look like a whole tomato. “I… cannot recall.”

“Hm,” he pointed back to the gambler, “How about his? Do you know his name?”

The rich man was quiet. His face was flushed no longer out of frustration, but rather out of embarrassment. The silence lasted long enough, and the officer with the lambchops sighed, shaking his head. The stache-wearing policeman nodded to Luther, “Thank you for cooperating. Sorry to bother you. Have a lovely rest of your day.”

“You too,” the blonde responded dryly and closed the door. He turned his back to it and leaned against it, sighing.

“What was that about?” Nana asked.

“I don’t know. That looney must have been drunk,” Luther chuckled, pushing off the door, “Must’ve hurt when he fell from Heaven. He was as red as the Devil!”

“Hmph!” the old lady sat back down, and situated herself, “No good for them accusing my boys!”

“No harm done,” the blonde shrugged without care.

But the way he looked at Raymond signaled that there  _ was _ harm done. They’d need to talk in private later.

  
  


* * *

  
  


“He knows where we live, now,” Luther said, hushed.

Raymond stood there in the solstice of the blonde’s room, quiet. 

Luther’s eyes pierced him. “Don’t you realize how awful that is?”

“I… I guess not?” Ray shrugged, “You said there was no harm done. We didn’t get in trouble by the law.”

“That’s not what he wanted…!” the satanist barked, “He would have  _ liked _ for us to, that way he wouldn’t have had to deal with us himself…” he sighed, “But now he has to. And that’s far worse.  _ Goddamnit _ , we should have been more careful.”

“What would he do to us? It’s not like he’s just gonna waltz in with his boys and shoot us in the heads.”

“It could happen!” Luther put his hand on his head, stressed beyond normal, “Damnit, damnit, damnit… This was our  _ one _ safehaven.”

“We’ve still got the base,” Raymond tried.

“No, we don’t. Not with his boys watching us,” he sighed, “We’ve gotta find another way in.”

The gambler suggested, “We  _ could _ just use the front gate. You said you knew… eh… what’s his name? Clay?”

“Edward Clay,” Luther filled in, “And yeah, I do. But we’re nowhere close to friends. Bad run with that guy.”

Ray frowned. “We could try.”

“We’re gonna have to,” he leaned against the wall. 

Ray watched his pale fingers drum against the wood. 


	8. Rising Tides

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Proverbs 22:1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !For those who’d rather not read it, this chapter contains some uncomfortable themes and graphic imagery!

Raymond walked out first as Luther followed, shutting the door behind them. Their heavy shoulders slumped as both of them sighed simultaneously and shook their heads. “That… coulda gone better,” Ray admitted.

“No kidding,” Luther agreed.

They had paid a visit to Edward Clay in his home, wanting access to the park. And, well,  _ paid _ was more literal than they would have expected.

Clay was a big name and Edward was a busy man. He didn’t have much time for odd appointments, and definitely not for Luther and Raymond. They weren’t in there for more than fifteen minutes, and thirteen out of those fifteen minutes Edward was talking—no, rather yelling. Scolding, jabbering, blaming—Luther hardly got to speak, and Ray never opened his mouth. The gambler picked up on a few details about what the Clay versus Stagmire dispute was all about: something about his daughter and debt, plus some nasty words. It didn’t sound that pretty, whatever it actually was. Then, after the blink of an eye, they were shoved out the door.

“His deal isn’t much better than us just risking getting caught,” the blonde said, “$5 every time we want to go to the park?”

“I know you said money wasn’t a problem for you, but yeah. That’s a lil` ludicrous.”

Luther grumbled, “Money isn’t the problem,” he started walking, “I can get money anytime, with our friend. It’s just that I  _ know _ Harris will be in touch with Clay soon if he’s not already. And since Clay doesn’t like me much, I doubt he’d care about keeping our business between us and him. Harris will hear about the deal, every time we pay the toll he’ll know about it, and he’ll have eyes on us. I’m sure of it.”

Raymond frowned. “You’ve… got this pretty wrapped up, don’t you?”

“I’ve had to deal with his kind plenty of times. Lame bastard.”

The gambler was curious, “What really is it with you and Clay?”

“Eh,” he was reluctant to talk about it, “Just dumb incidents. When I first got in the city I caught his daughter in a restaurant and thought I should ask about who the big people were here. She said she was the daughter of a rich man, thought for sure I could use that to my advantage and try to convert her, but all my hints and tricks just came across like I was straight from the brothel. Her daddy got involved, I called him a few things, then felt stupid later and decided I’d pay him back just to clear my name, didn’t need that kind of reputation,” they started down the sidewalk, the afternoon buzz ignoring their conversation, “The bitch wanted $60 in payment. Greedy bastard, greedy bastard…” he shook his head, “I had to fetch a bunch for our friend in order to even get that kind of cash, so the payment was late and that didn’t help. Overall just… not a good first week here.”

“Yeah. Sounds hella rough.”

Luther was shaking his head. “I mean… I’m stuck on this. What are we gonna do? Going over the wall just means we’ll get caught again, and if Harris knows we’ll be in the park he’ll send boys to follow us, then they’ll know just  _ why _ we’re going,” he shoved his hands in his pockets, “And it’s not like we can just stay away forever. We’ll never make progress.”

Ray thought for a second. He traced the rim of his hat with his fingers, looking down the sidewalk. The people walking and buildings standing meant nothing to him as he tried to come up with something. 

A large, furry animal came from between one of the buildings. It was the mastiff that Raymond had seen a month ago. More often than not, the two would see this giant dog anytime they went out. It would trot around all over the city, picking up scraps, letting children pet it; a very friendly dog. Ray and Luther had made friends of it, and the dog recognized them, sometimes following, sometimes just stopping. It was a male, and he’d stopped in front of them. Raymond didn’t even have to lean down to pet the large head of the animal, he just gave a good pat, the mastiff wagged his tail, and was on its way in the other direction.

Ray thought for another moment. “We could go to the park a few times, unsolicited. Just do some basic studyin` with Greek, or just talk.”

Luther had caught on, and a grin was beginning to hook his lips, “That way Harris will get bored with us.”

“And he’ll think we’re just screwin` around,” Ray was smiling, too.

“So he’ll stop watching us!” the blonde gave a light punch to the gambler’s arm, “Look at you, Ray~”

Raymond showed his teeth with a jolly grin, subtly proud of himself. “When will we go?”

“Let’s wait `til tomorrow, maybe even a day more. Don’t want to grab too much attention just yet,” Luther suggested.

Ray nodded to him, agreeing.

  
  


* * *

  
  


The next day they had bought their way into the park. It was a large place, the perimeter surrounded in rows of messily-placed trees. Their base was near the back, it would be about a five-to-ten minute walk to get from the proper entrance to their hideout, but that’s not what they were concerned about then. They were busy at one of the several benches that were scattered about the park, usually close to a large decorative rock or stepping stones or the occasional pond. Other people were littered about, most commonly friends or family of Edward Clay, and some had stopped for conversation. They usually brought their children or pets, enjoying the last days of summer in this beautiful scenery. 

Over the week, Raymond and Luther spent their time talking, reading, just acting casual. They even brought Nana out the other day, and she thrived in meeting others and sharing snacks. 

Surely enough, though, both of the satanists had noticed a few hovering eyes. They recognized the towhead and the raven-looking men two days in a row, pretending not to know each other, pretending not to be watching the two who studied. The offenders came and went by the day, and when it wasn’t them, it was another unfamiliar face. This went on for five days straight, but for the past two days, Raymond and Luther seemed to be in the clear. They didn’t risk going to the base, though. Not yet. 

It was a sunny day, but the bright star brought little warmth. Raymond sat on a bench, reading through the disguised book, nearly done with it. There were bundles and bundles of information on the effects of possessions that Ray found himself very interested in. More powerful demons could completely degrade and control a body, but were typically more mature and hid within the confines of the victim’s mind, only appearing occasionally. Less powerful found it harder to control humans, but always tried to get out, so it was a constant battle between victim and attacker, rendering the body to look tired and worn out. Sometimes when inviting a demon to Earth, the summoner gets possessed; sometimes they can make the demon possess another; sometimes the demon won’t do anything. Ray learned that demons aren’t just animals that you can command and control. They were more like people, with thoughts and interests and personalities of their own, and plenty have been stubborn if they’re summoned and don’t want to be. Among other things, Raymond was keeping notes for if and when Luther or himself would ever summon a demon. 

Speaking of the blonde, he wasn’t on the bench with him; he was sitting on a rock by a pond, shoes and socks off, pants rolled up, feet in the water. The gambler watched him for a bit, and it appeared that Luther was just enjoying himself. The wind softly blew over his curly, golden hair, his ocean-blue eyes gazing across the surface of the water. Each time he swayed his legs the most comforting and satisfying ripple would spread from his ankles to the rest of the pond. His sleeves were rolled up, too, his soft hands supporting his weight on the rugged rock. He had the slightest smile about him, and Raymond felt an undeniable sense of tranquility just by looking at Luther. He stared for a while from behind, watching the blonde’s back muscles flex when he adjusted himself, his relaxed manner, his calmness. He wanted to know what Luther was thinking about, what he was worried about, what he was glad about. He wanted to be in his head, he wanted to hear him, wanted to know him more. Ray didn’t think these thoughts consciously, either, it just seemed natural. 

After a while, though, the gambler had lifted the book and began to read. His satchel was on the ground next to him, with all the other books—books that probably should have been left home, if they wanted to be safe. If they didn’t want sneaking hands to snatch it and pluck from it the plethora of satanism that was there, they would have left it home.

They didn’t. It sat there, on the ground, just out of Raymond’s field of view.

Luther stretched his arms over his head, making the motion to turn. He pulled his feet up onto the rock, looking over his shoulder at Ray, and the gambler lifted his head to look at him. Raymond was smiling. Luther wasn’t. In the span of such a short moment his content gaze turned to a frown and then to a scowl as his eyes went wild. “ _ Hey! _ ” he shouted, bounding off the rock and running towards Raymond. The gambler knew that he wasn’t the one that needed to worry, and stood from the bench, turning to look at what was so wrong.

He recognized the raven-looking man in an instant, crouched over and sifting through the satchel. The raven pounced up with the satchel, attempting to flee but not before Luther jumped and tackled him to the ground. “Thief! Thief!” the blonde shouted, alerting the attention of anyone nearby. Raymond knew it seemed very out-of-character for Luther to be shouting for help, but he realized he did this purposely. The gambler ran over in the heat of their brawl and tried to snatch the satchel away, and though he was able to, the books went flying. People were rushing over, and Ray worked quickly to hide the items. 

Luther had the raven-looking man face-down in the dirt, knee on his back, hands on both wrists and pinned. People were gathering, and Ray just barely managed to slip the last book into the satchel, the disguised book in hand. “What happened?” a heavy-set man stepped up.

“This bastard is a thief!” Luther hissed, and the raven-looking man writhed beneath him.

“Get off of me, you bigot!”

Another stranger came over and tried to split the blonde and the raven. He helped Luther up while the heavier man stopped the raven as he attempted to scurry off.

“What was he taking?”

“Books,” Raymond spoke, “The whole bag, really!”

“Those are…! Pagan! Pagan books!” the raven pointed and accused, “These two should be hanged and lynched! Burned and whipped for their blasphemy!”

Now the strangers who gathered had slim eyes on the two satanists. Ray quickly pulled the disguised book, trying his best to look confused and not nervous. “Pagan?” he looked at the cover, “This is a history book.”

“Pagan language! Eh—Something you two whipped up!” the raven was just throwing wild cards.

“It’s Greek…” Raymond said. A stranger peered over his shoulder, and Ray showed her, quickly flipping through the pages. The stranger looked upon the raven and shook her head. “The nerve of some people,” she scolded the thief, “Interrupting a man’s fine day!”

The raven-looking man looked particularly short compared to the heavyset—it didn’t help that he was crouched over. His face was about as crooked as his nose, sheepishly clasping his hands together as his dark eyes scanned the crowd. 

Luther dusted himself off and walked over to Raymond. “Leave the bastard be,” he told the group, “Skamper off!” he commanded the thief. And the thief ran, head down, straight for the gates.

As he left, others directed their attention specifically to Luther and Raymond. “Was anybody hurt?” “Was anything stolen?” “Do you know that man?”

“No,” “No,” and, “No,” were the answers. “We’re alright,” Luther waved them off. And they left, just like that. There wasn’t much to say, not much to investigate. Just some rat who was into trouble, and the blonde pretended to be the bigger man and let him go free of consequence. But there was a hot anger brewing inside of him. He went to the rock, picking up his shoes and sitting to get them on. 

“That… was pretty bad,” Raymond commented after tucking everything away and ensuring no one was watching them from afar. 

“Ha, no sh-t,” the blonde scoffed. 

“We really that predictable? He really knows we’re… you know, pagan?”

Luther didn’t make eye contact. “I’m gonna be entirely honest, I don’t think he knows jack sh-t. I think he just threw a wild guess and happened to be close.”

“So, he don’t know?”

“Not quite. But he’ll never admit it. He’ll go tell Harris and they’ll find a way to make it stick. I bet you that.” 

Ray put the strap over his shoulder. “I guess we’re goin` home, then…?” 

“No.”

The gambler cocked his head. “Oh?”

“We can stay here. I want to stay. I don’t want to go back because I’m in a bad mood and then Nana will ask and I’ll get snappy and then I’ll just turn on you and…” he stopped himself, “Just… Let’s stay here for a bit. Okay?”

Raymond knew how on-edge Luther was, and he understood where this quick-mouthed man was coming from. He stepped forward and held out his hand. 

The blonde looked from his fingertips up to the gambler’s face, then grasped his friend’s hand. He was pulled up and led to the bench, where there they sat with touching arms and a silent gaze.

“Ray…” Luther spoke after a while, “If you could go anywhere in the world, where would it be?”

The gambler thought for a moment, not really knowing. He noticed Luther begin to tap again, against his own leg. “I don’t know,” he said, “Any recommendations?”

Luther looked out onto the pond. “The ocean,” a pause, “But not on the beach… Just, infinite ocean, as far as the eye can see. I’d love to fly over the surface, the saltwater spraying over my wings as I soared… I’d want to be up in clouds, a mess of colors, watching the waves move from the wind I make, and the creatures that rise to the surface…” his eyes were open, but Ray could tell he wasn’t looking at anything, “I’d want to feel the breeze, the cold, cold air that the clouds share. I want it just so I can dive back down, into the warm ocean, and float amongst the sea life. The sun’s rays piercing through the blue depths, and I just sink… To the bottom… Laying on a bed of sand… And sleep…”

For a moment, Raymond felt that he’d gotten what he’d wished for. He’d just taken a peek into Luther’s head, knowing what he thought of, what he was concerned over, what he was glad about. The blonde had such a mesmerizing voice, and the way he talked… Was this what Luther dreamed about? When he was sleepwalking, was he flying in his dreams? When he was hitting the wall, was he trying to get beneath the surface of the ocean? Was it really a nightmare, like the doves? Or was it some sort of beautiful imagery? 

What if it  _ was _ all just nightmares? Is that why Luther daydreamed like this, thinking out loud like this? Was he incapable of dreaming? Dreaming good dreams? Dreaming about the ocean? He’d stopped tapping.

Raymond understood he’d been quiet for too long, because he noticed that Luther had realized he’d been talking nonsense. “Sorry,” he began tapping again, “The ocean. I took a big boat over the Atlantic to get to Greece. It’s pretty.”

The gambler was disappointed in how Luther downplayed his own speech. That explanation was like a journey to another world for Ray, and he enjoyed it more than the blonde realized.

Raymond took a dare. A risk, if you will. He snaked his hand across Luther’s lap and clasped it around the blonde’s fingers. The heat overcame him upon realizing that he was getting away with it and Luther wasn’t pulling away. It began in his face and the warmth spread to his chest and down his arms. His flushed cheeks were pushed with a small but nervous smile, and he kept that expression as Luther lifted his head to him. Under curly bangs were eyes that shone so brightly, and eyes that looked right at Ray. Not through him, at him. 

Their grins matched, and their hands were warm.

  
  


* * *

  
  


It was later in the day. They were back home. “Nana,” Raymond began, “When do you think Jack’ll get back? It’s been a few months, hasn’t it?”

She was sitting at the table while the other two cleaned up the kitchen for her. Nana put her hands in her lap and sighed, “Oh, it’ll be another couple of months. It takes a long while for him to actually arrive, and then he’ll stay for a while longer, and then he has to make it back,” she explained, “My husband only takes this trip every few years, so he makes the most of it.”

“I’d imagine,” Ray commented, “You reckon I’ll get to meet him?”

“Depends on how long you stay. He should be back right around the end of the year.”

“Yikes,” the gambler hissed, “Traveling through the winter?”

“He does it plenty enough to know what to prepare,” Luther assured. 

Nana nodded. She then pushed off the table and stood from the chair, “I’ll be right back, boys. Thank you for helping clean up.”

“It ain’t no trouble,” Ray said. 

Nana waddled out of the kitchen and made her way up the sturdy stairs. 

They put away the last of the dishes and utensils, wiping their hands on a towel. “You know,” Luther’s voice was low and quiet, “I think we should get fake names.”

The gambler cocked his head to the side. “Wha’d’you mean?”

“Harris and his boys are gonna want information sometime soon. Wouldn’t it be better if they didn’t quite know who we were?”

Raymond was just confused, “I ain’t really gettin` it, but, sure.”

“Well, not only that, but when we’re big shots we’ll want aliases. People will never quite know who we are.”

“I guess,” Ray shrugged, “Uhm… My name can be… Jacob.”

“No no no,” Luther chuckled, “Make it crazy, not some boring, average name.”

“Uhm… Okay, tell me your name and I’ll see if I can match it.”

Luther leaned against one of the counters, bringing a finger to his chin as he thought. “Hm…” he hummed, “How `bout… Mimi.”

“Mimi?” Ray laughed.

“Mimi,” the blonde repeated, “You see you’re laughing? That’s good, it’s unrealistic, it’s unpredictable. They’d never match that name to my face.” He gestured to Raymond, “Your turn.”

“Ah…” the gambler thought, “Uh… Sss… No…” he looked up at the ceiling, then brought his chin down as he gave a name just as ridiculous as Luther’s, “Zozo.”

Luther clapped, “Perfect. Zozo. Mimi and Zozo,” he grinned, “We should start laying out traps sometime soon.”

“What?”

“You know, like, little signs and symbols we make up that look like they’d be affiliated with our friend, and sign our fake names under it. That way they’ll be looking for these ‘Mimi and Zozo’ characters rather than us.”

“Oh,” Ray paused, sort of glad he didn’t mean anything like animal traps, “Won’t they know that those are just nicknames?”

“Why wouldn’t they think they’re people from a foreign country?”

“Oh, yeah. That’s right.” He suddenly had a thought, “Wait… Didn’t we tell that waitress a while back that we were foreign?”

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Luther shut it down very quickly, “What about the Oregon Trail?”

The gambler blinked, extremely confused about why the conversation suddenly segwayed into something that happened forty years ago. Then, he caught Nana coming into the kitchen out of the corner of his eye and realized why Luther had so awkwardly but smoothly changed the conversation. He tried to recall any information about the Oregon Trail that he’s ever heard, “Uh… They used… oxes.”

“ _ Oxen _ ,” Luther corrected.

“What’s going on, you two?” Nana wondered, “I heard something about the Oregon Trail. You know, my parents took that trip when I was just a youngster. They brought me from Kansas to Idaho, then broke off with a few others to come here,” and the old woman just began to go on and on and on… Luther had purposely done that so she didn’t get worried over their initial conversation. And hey, Raymond found his first use for the term  _ church bell _ .

The gambler forced himself to look interested, but he was thinking about this new identity he had to possess. Zozo… What a name!

  
  


* * *

  
  


About a week had passed, and they’d been to the park every day. No incidents, no encounters, no spying eyes. They deemed it safe to make their way to the base, finally. They went to Clay, and—to both of their surprises—had to pay nothing. He seemed satisfied with the repeated pay and the lack of trouble they were getting into, and told them that from then on they could go to the park freely.

So, that’s where they went, just as they planned. 

The day was deathly chilly, meaning that autumn was nearly full-swing. This was overall good for the satanists, though, as they realized not many people would be in the park, and that meant less chance for anyone catching them run off. Down the sidewalk they went with shivering arms as the wind nibbled their cheeks and noses. A few birds hung around in this late-summer, on the tops of roofs and hidden in trees, singing a few short songs. 

They walked past the last few buildings before the wall became bare and visible, and from between two stores trotted out the stray mastiff. He was between the turn and the satanists, and when he saw them he immediately made his way over. Friendly posture, not agitated in any way, just looking for a few friends of his own.

Raymond smiled as the dog came over, petting its large head as it walked between them. “Had to have been someone’s pet beforehand,” Ray commented, “It’s not feral in the slightest.”

Luther pet the stray’s back. “Yeah, probably. It’s a good dog.”

They were turning the corner, and around it they’d see the large metal gates that would lead straight into the park. A little backtracking and some hopping through the trees, and they’d be in the base. 

But there was a problem…

Upon rounding the corner they found a group of men by the gates waiting. Both of them ducked behind the wall immediately upon recognizing the faces of Harris and his usual pals. A look of panic had coated both of their faces as they ravaged through their thoughts to find any ideas on how to deal with this. To Raymond, this was an impossible mission. There was no way they’d win two to four, with the probability of the other team having a weapon ready at any moment. They should turn back…

But Luther had this smirk about him. “Ray,” he whispered, “Control the dog.”

The gambler blinked and stepped back. “Wh… what?” He looked his friend in the eye.

“ _ Control the dog _ ,” the blonde whispered, “Make him chase those guys.”

“How the hell do I—?” he stopped. He just then remembered the bird. He remembered he could control animals now. Well, small animals—was this dog too big? How would he—?

“Just  _ think _ , Ray.”

God, if only it were so easy. With his head full of spinning questions, it was hard to clear his mind to create an image he wanted. He brought a hand to his temple, rubbing hard enough to force himself to see the blurriest image of the mastiff chasing the men, barking, snarling, growling. 

The scarcity of birds from earlier was an underplay compared to now; screeching voices pierced through the air from above. Raymond stared at the ground, trying to concentrate, trying to block out the birds who were growing louder and louder and louder.

He thought of the dog’s paws stomping against the pavement, claws clicking as they collided with the ground.

The birds cried. 

The animal’s bark would sound like thunder and rumble deep in their bones, poisoning them with fear. 

The birds screamed.

The beast’s teeth were yellow and sharp, wanting flesh and muscle to tear.

The birds were silent… 

A blur of tan left his sight as the dog raced around the corner, barking and growling. Raymond focused on the moment, feeling like his feet were lifting from the ground, his body lighter than air, exhilaration and excitement overtaking him. Did he just…?

The men at the gate shouted and yelped, and the sound of stomping feet fleeing the opposite direction from them could be heard. As they got quieter, Luther peered around the corner and came back chuckling. “Hell of a job, Ray!” he encouraged somewhat quietly, “C`mon, let’s hurry.”

Conflicting emotions plagued Raymond’s mind—the confusion and fear of what just happened, the action he accomplished that should have been impossible to do, versus the pride and triumph of said accomplishment that should have been impossible to do. His conscience was tied up in a mess of emotions, but, ultimately, pride won, and he followed the blonde. 

They scurried through the gates and slowed once they were in the park, veering to the side so they wouldn’t get instantly noticed if someone peeked through the entrance. Along the way to the line of trees, Luther shoved Ray, then took off laughing. The gambler regained his balance and raced after him, holding onto his hat so it wouldn’t fly off as they disappeared into the woods.

Luther was taller  _ and _ got a head start, so that automatically gave him an advantage, but Raymond caught up when the blonde stumbled over a lump in the ground. He didn’t fall, but by the time Ray threw his arms around, they both went down. They laughed and pushed off of each other, Luther being the first to stand and lent Ray a hand. They joked and walked the rest of the way there, catching their breaths as they did.

The wall came into view shortly, as well as the roofs of buildings that stood alongside it. They followed the perimeter, taking care to ensure they didn’t miss the hatch. A little walking, then a little backtracking, and they found it. Ray slipped his hat back on and heaved open the hatch, finding it to be much more difficult than he anticipated. No faults were made, though, and they both made it down the ladder. 

The lights came on just as Ray came off the ladder, the golden glow barely warming the room. It was nothing either of them weren’t used to, though. Luther sighed happily, throwing his arms down at his sides and puffing his chest out, seeming to enjoy it here. “Finally… I was starting to worry that we’d never be able to slip past them.”

Raymond mindlessly looked up at the braids. “Him and his boys were at the gates for us, huh?”

“I’d bet. Probably looking to beat us to death or chase us out of town.”

Ray exhaled, “Not today, though.” He walked across the room to the table with the birdcage, looking inside. He didn’t like the picture. The verdin was still again, some of its feathers ruffled and standing on end, but the majority were pasted down to its body. Its yellow face seemed more grey like the rest of its body, and its closed eyes did not give the message that it was sleeping. No, this bird was dead. Truly, unmistakably dead.

“Ray,” Luther began, “Since we’re here, I think we should take advantage of it.”

The gambler looked over to him.

“How about we summon our patron?”

This sinking feeling captured Raymond’s stomach. It made him feel like he was falling and his first instinct was to gag. He bit his tongue and brought a hand to his lips, trying to shake the feeling off. Puzzled about this sudden emotion caging him, he tried to force it to the back of his mind and ignore it. “I… I’m ready?” he asked.

Luther had a knowing smile. “You aren’t doing it alone,” he insisted.

“I expected as much,” Ray said, “I just…” the sickness faded, and he shook his head, “Nevermind. I can do it.”

Luther brushed up against him, “You were so eager beforehand…”

“I know. But now that you said it,” he never finished.

The blonde put a comforting hand on the gambler’s shoulder. “Raymond,” he started, his voice soft and welcoming, “Don’t doubt yourself. I know when the time is right,” he came face-to-face with his friend, “And now, we should seize it.”

The gambler took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. He straightened his posture and pushed his shoulders back, nodding. “Okay,” he agreed, “Yeah. Tell me what I need to do.” 

Luther showed his toothy grin, patting Raymond on the arm as he stepped away. “Alright, here we go~” He lifted the birdcage from the table, turning and handing it to Ray. “We’ll need that,” he hurried over to a wardrobe, opening a drawer and pulling large rags and towels from its insides, “And these,” he tossed them to Ray, who caught them awkwardly. The blonde made his way to a particular chest, the same one he’d pulled the dagger from those days ago. Raymond’s stomach flipped as Luther spoke, “And these, too,” he didn’t throw the knives, rather he held them as he strut over. “Oh, uhm…” the satanist peered around, “We don’t have the books, do we?”

Raymond shook his head, “No, sir.”

“Hm…” he hummed, “Well, that’ll be fine. It just means we’ll have to share the work,” he nudged Ray for him to follow. “There are certain things you have to say when summoning certain demons. It’s fine, I’ve got the words burned into my brain. Just, the next time, we’ll make sure  _ you _ do it.”

Raymond realized he was heading straight for the mysterious door—the one that had never been opened prior to this. 

“While we’re getting things set up I’ll let you in on the specifics,” Luther grabbed the knob and turned it, opening the wooden door with ease.

A wave of icy air rushed out from the room, licking their faces and moving their hair. Raymond inhaled the air, his lungs weak and aching for a moment before returning to their normal state. The gambler squinted his eyes, looking through the doorway, finding nothing but an infinite, black void. 

Luther glanced over his shoulder, then made the gesture for Raymond to follow. The two of them walked through the doorway, the darkness consuming both of them; Ray followed the heat that radiated off of his friend in this deathly cold room. 

The door shut on its own behind them. True darkness…

Just as the anxiety began to take a toll on his mind, Ray heard the other’s voice. “You still here?”

“Yes…?” his voice had a slight crack.

“I’m just joking,” Luther chuckled lightly, “Hold on.”

In a moment, a small light appeared at their feet. Raymond looked down to find a silver flame, small and cold, flickering just above the floor. It illuminated their shoes and the trims of their pants, but nothing more. 

Another light of the same size and color appeared not a foot away from it. Then another, and another. One by one, these silver flames were sparking to life, spreading across the room. Raymond’s eyes ate up the light, slowly adjusting to be able to visualize the room. 

As the white dots spread across the floor, he realized that this place was only about a third of the size of the main room, made entirely out of stone. Of course, that wasn’t even close to the most interesting thing happening: the flames didn’t stop once the entirety of the floor was covered, they began to climb up the walls. It was about that time when Raymond realized that all these flames were attached to pale wax candles, and the flames did not obey gravity. The tips of the flares on the floor pointed up, as they should have, but the ones on the walls pointed toward the center of the room. The lights snaked up to the ceiling as well, and those hung upside down. Ray was spinning on his heels, taking in the room for all its worth, awed at the impossibility. 

Once he made a full circle, he noticed one spot in the room that sans any flames or candles. In the very center was a large circle, dark, untouched by the cold flickers. With all this new light coming from every corner of the room, Ray could see the shape held within it. A star of wax, like the substance had sprouted up from the cracks in the floor, its points lining up perfectly with five standing candles. All the flames seemed to gravitate toward this blank area on the floor.

Ray made another circle, impressed that neither of them tripped over or snapped the candles on the floor when they walked in. The flames were all around them, dangerously close, and he tried to keep his toes between them all so his pants wouldn’t catch ablaze. Luther noticed this and chuckled at him. “Don’t worry about it,” he told Ray, who looked up. He could see all of the blonde’s features, the white light making it much easier to see. “Look,” Luther leaned over, putting his fingertip right to one of the flames. He did not flinch or coil back, unhurt. Then, he flattened his palm and pushed down, and the  _ candle _ coiled back. It looked as if it melted slightly faster than the speed of Luther’s hand, until both the wax and the flame disappeared completely when his palm touched the floor. And, when he pulled away, the candle grew back and reignited. “This room won’t hurt you,” Luther pronounced.

Exhilaration and amazement flooded Raymond’s psyche. This impossible room, this impossible place, this impossible life that he was living… he felt so lucky that he was a part of it. How many people could experience this? How many people had a friend like Luther? All this craziness, all this insanity, it was nothing compared to the bond with this satanist or the whimsicality of this scene. He felt so amazingly excited to continue…

And yet, that hole in his stomach formed, as if it were a bad idea. He ignored it.

“Let’s get started,” Luther said, circling the empty spot in the room, “Take the bird out.”

Raymond cautiously kneeled down, some of the candles that he would have touched receding to the cracks in the floor. Carefully, he set the cage down and opened the door, reaching into the small prison and gently lifting the bird from its resting state.  _ Wake up, wake up… _

The verdin tensed, its wings folding against its body and its head rising. Its shut eyes continued to stay that way as Ray wrapped his fingers around its tiny, tiny physique. Alive, once more, but… 

“Fold up one of those rags.”

Ray did so.

“Now,” Luther kneeled next to him, pushing the gambler’s hand to the cloth so he’d set the bird down. Then, he handed him one of the knives, the other he kept to himself, “Cut open your hand. Nothing serious, just a line across the palm.”

Ray bit the inside of his cheek, not surprised that this was part of it, but not liking it. “Wait,” he halted, “Can you tell me what else we’re gonna do? Just for curiosity’s sake.”

The blonde was already slitting his skin, slowly and roughly dragging the shimmering blade across his pale flesh. “You’re gonna cut your hand, decapitate the bird, and then cut its body down the middle. I’ll do my thing.”

Raymond blinked. “I… what?”

“You ever hear the story of Abraham? How he killed the cow, ram, blah blah blah, all that?”

The gambler wasn’t sure if he remembered hearing anything like that, but he went along with it.

“God told him to split everything in half except for the birds,” he set the knife down, letting the blood pool in his hand, “We just do the opposite.”

“Oh… Nothin` more to it?”

“When you think about it head-on, no, not really. Just a few petty rules to this whole thing,” he motioned to his friend’s hand. “C`mon.”

Ray remembered what he was supposed to be doing and brought the dagger to his palm. He awkwardly spread his fingers out, trying to push into his flesh, but the pressure hurt more than anything and he made no mark. A friendly fist came over and cupped his hand, making the gambler curl his fingers and grip the blade. It was ironic how kind and soft Luther’s touch was given the circumstances. 

Raymond squeezed the blade while the other and pushed and dragged. A sharp pain erupted from his palm, and when the knife was drawn away, blood pulsed from the fresh wound. He tipped his hand to let it run off, but Luther was quick to stop him. “Everything either in the pentagram or on the cloth. Got it?” His unhurt hand pulled Raymond’s over the blank spot in the room.

_ Pentagram? Oh _ , the shape in the center. Ray nodded and held his hand over the folded sheet, just in case. 

“Now, take off its head,” the blonde motioned to the verdin. When the gambler gave him a weird look, Luther seemed to know exactly why. “It’s easy, just twist and pull.” 

Ray only assumed as much—he just wasn’t ready to do it. Never decapitated anything before, so it was easy to say that this may have been clumsy. He scooted closer to the shape, taking the bird and holding it over the blank area.

Luther moved the cloth into the pentagram.

Raymond drew a breath. This small, helpless animal was about to die… again. But, for real this time. The gambler knew better than to think he would be able to resurrect this bird. It would be gone, truly gone, and there was no getting it back.

But it was just a bird, wasn’t it? There were a million more, a million that never knew it, hundreds that would forget about it, a few who would move on. That was just it… Just a bird…

And yet, Raymond doubted himself. Who was he to take away a life? Any life? Even when it seemed so innocuous.

...Harris and his boys must not have thought any differently of him. All Raymond was to them was an animal. A pitiful, weak animal… A million more like him… hundreds that would forget about him… a few that would move on.

Ray didn’t think the same. He was certain he didn’t think the same way. This bird wasn’t an annoyance, it was the thing that would end this ordeal. He was certain he was on the right team. He was certain that he didn’t deserve the fate that Harris promised. 

The gambler gripped the head with his hurt hand, the body with the other, and snapped the skull from the verdin’s carcass. Small droplets of blood dripped from the body as it pulsed, landing on the perfectly white cloth, now stained. He lowered the head to the cloth, slowly, very slowly, and held the forever-limp body. Raymond felt cold. It was not from the room, it emitted from inside, from his bones, and spread throughout his nerves. 

He lifted the knife with a sigh, not looking at Luther, but ensuring, “I cut it down the middle now?”

“Right.”

He leaned over the upright candles, setting the body down on the cloth. His own blood dripped down his fingers as he held the verdin in place. He didn’t dare think about the act now. The blade split through feathers and flesh, crushing bones, veins, and tissue. As he went down the blade slit tissue and matter, the hollow bones popping, the small organs bursting. Ray flinched at the first small eruption, but not at the rest. Gas buildup, that was all. A noise, that was all. A bird, that was all…

Blood that seemed black in this colorless room was spilled all over the cloth. Luther’s hand came over and dripped into the pentagram. 

Was the room getting… louder? There was no noise, but Raymond could hear something. 

Luther stood and Ray could hear him speaking. It was Greek, he recognized a few words, but the gambler was only decent at reading the language, not having a conversation in it. He ignored it—it wasn’t the noise he was hearing anyway. It was so difficult to explain, so challenging to pinpoint precisely what it was. It wasn’t a choir… or a hiss… it was drawn out like both, though… Humming, maybe? Perhaps it was just the blood rushing through his head. Thick, sloppy, black blood. If he heard it, it must have been close to his ears. Maybe blood would gush from either side of his head, pouring from his ears, and he’d be fine with it. He would have expected it. The hot, burning substance cascading down his neck and shoulders, never stopping, filling up the room and extinguishing the candles. It would seep under the door and flood the entire base, staining the braids and books, rising up the ladder and spilling into the world. It’d be in the newspaper.  _ Miserable Las Vegas Destroyed: Blood Flood _ . The water in the rivers would be replaced with blood, the showers would be of blood, people would bathe in blood. Soon the oceans would turn a sour black and red and the fish would die, only to be replaced by newer, bigger monsters in the deep. Monsters that feasted off of the blood they swam through, their eyes missing with skin grown over them. No use in having eyes when you can’t see through the thick, black mess you lived in. Then, the earth wouldn’t have any land. It would just be one giant pool of awful goop, floating through the endless void… and it would all come from Raymond’s ears.

A pain in his hand made him snap out of his trance. His brow was covered in sweat and his breathing was hitched. He felt out of place, out of his element, entirely dirty and itchy. Luther was still mumbling, and the pain in the gambler’s hand was becoming incredibly immense. He stood up and looked down at his wound.

It wasn’t the wound itself that caused the pain, but it came from a similar place. A horrible feeling under his skin made him itch and twitch. He pulled his sleeve back to find a large mass moving just beneath the flesh of his arm. He saw the outline, tough and spindly, with dozens of legs that poked and stabbed into the muscles. He thought he was dreaming this, but the image was so clear. He wanted to touch it and scrape at it and tear his skin open just to rip out whatever creature moved down his arm, but at the same time, he was too terrified to touch it. It was already such a deleterious feeling, causing intense fear and pain. The thing was going right for the slit in his hand.

Its head poked from the cut, antennae uncurling and feeling the air as its armored face whipped around. A centipede. Raymond wanted to scream, he wanted to yell, this thing was  _ inside of him _ . He clutched his arm just beneath where it ended—close to his elbow—and stared at it with eyes as wide as he could manage. He was gasping for air, droplets of sweat running down the side of his face.

One at a time, the legs emerged. They prodded and searched for a place to hold as the bloodied insect pulled itself from Raymond’s tight, succulent skin. It wiggled and writhed as the gambler yelled without a voice, his mouth agape, no noise emitting. The centipede started to thrash violently once it was nearly free, flinging out from his hand and landing on the floor with a wet slap. His blood was no longer within the bare spot in the room, but Luther didn’t seem worried about it. 

Actually, Luther seemed very busy with his own work. As he spoke, a black cloud had formed behind him, writhing and bulging, twisting and cracking, as if it were organic. Raymond was beginning to feel sick. He turned his head to the floor where the centipede landed. It had put itself on its feet and was now crawling to the pentagram, trailing blood behind it as it weaved through the candles. 

The gambler’s hand was tingling. Pins and needles, stinging and shaking. He was terrified that more of its kind would begin to snake down his arm. 

Once within the dark ring, the centipede went for the bird. It coiled around the corpse like a python, then burrowed itself into one half of it, curling up as it was consumed by shadows. 

The sound of rushing blood in Raymond’s ears hadn’t stopped. 

The blonde was getting louder very quickly until, at last, he was louder than the blood. And with a final word, “ _ Beata! _ ” the candles went out, all at once, and everything fell silent…

The gambler was blind and stayed as still as a statue, not daring to move in fear of what may have been in front of him. Subtly, noises began to become audible. Ticks… pops… and suddenly, a horrible breaking sound. Crunching and cracking, like a human’s skull folding in half within their head, their brain spilling from the new and old holes. The lights came back on just as Raymond felt like throwing up, and what he saw before him… was not what he expected.


	9. Murders & Trips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deuteronomy 8:17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coronavirus shut down my school until March 30th and my demon baby bois are the only things distracting from it.

The figure that stared at Raymond was humanoid; many extremities that didn’t match a normal look occupied its physique, but the base of the creature resembled a woman. She had long hair with sharp eyes and a flat face, her arms extremely long. She towered over both of them, standing at around eight feet. Standing… no, not standing. Raymond saw her legs, wrapped up in something that came to a point, and she  _ floated _ .

The longer he looked at her, the more he realized his initial understanding of her was wrong. The gambler was finding more and more abnormalities by the second. Her long hair wasn’t hair at all—rather a thick sheet of leather-like skin that started from her forehead and formed a sort of cloak around her body. Her long arms were truly normal-sized but had blended in with one another because there were  _ four _ of them. And her flat face came out to a very short snout, her nose nearly nonexistent. There were decorations atop her head… no, wrong again. Those were antennae, thick and moving through the air, feeling. Her sharp eyes had no pupils or irises, entirely yellow. Her skin was not discolored because of the lighting, but rather because it truly was an alien-color of lavender.

Her body recoiled and relaxed again as if taking a breath and floated away from the pentagram. The centipede that used to be within the bird, the one that was stained with Raymond’s blood, had attached to her wrapped feet and was climbing up her body. The gambler was feeling an undeniable sense of fear as the woman approached him, her features becoming clearer and more intimidating as a result. 

The wrappings around her waist and legs resembled a cocoon or elytra, and he saw that live butterflies covered her breasts. The centipede reached her collarbone and separated into four insects: yellow caterpillars. They inched up to her neck and created a ring around her collarbone—a necklace of sorts.

The insect-hybrid woman was mere feet away from the gambler, glaring at him with those serious, yellow eyes. She hooked her lip into a snarl and turned her head to Luther. “This is who you’ve been bringing?” Her voice was clear and smooth and had a ring of high-class touch to it.

There was no longer any mass around the blonde. He looked perfectly fine, perfectly sane. He smiled and nodded, “Your newest recruit.”

She cocked her head to the side when she twisted back to face the gambler. “I expected someone with more of a spine…” she hissed.

In a way, she was right. Raymond was terrified with trembling fingers and wide eyes. He was in his usual frozen state, just staring at the thing in front of him. Was this a demon? Was this what they all looked like? These bug-like entities?

“He’s got plenty of  _ spine! _ ” Luther was strutting toward them, seemingly fine and comfortable with the happenings, “Beata, look how far he’s gotten! He had to jump into this blindly, and he’s done everything necessary.”

“So far…” she held one of her hands out, the lower set folded behind her back. “Let me see you,” she ordered with authority.

Raymond couldn't move. He was perpetually frozen in time, unable to register enough about the figure floating before him.  _ Bee-atta _ … he thought but found no bees to be a part of her. 

Her brow lowered. “Boy, you’d best do as you’re told right away,” she growled as she snatched his left hand, the one that had been cut open. Ray felt his heart jump when she did this but didn’t dare pull away. 

God, she was real. A physical, solid being. Her leathery skin was entirely unsettling, not to mention the claws at the ends of her fingers. How deep could they tear into him? One of the claws lightly traced from the crease in his arm to his palm then pushed into the slit. The stinging was immense and made Raymond wince, but never once did he retaliate.

“Strong, isn’t he?” Luther said with a smile.

The demon dropped his hand. “Nothing extraordinary.”

The blonde had taken pity on the gambler after realizing how much shock he was going through. He stepped over to his friend, wrapping an arm around his midsection as they stood side-by-side. Raymond immediately found comfort in this and held onto Luther’s hand at his side to ensure they wouldn’t be separated. “I beg to differ,” the blonde commented, then squeezed the gambler’s body, “Ray, this is our patron~ You can call her Beata, nothing more, nothing less,” a pause, “Very close ties with the Devil~”

Beata chuffed, “No need to be a bootlicker, boy.”

Luther’s ego looked like it’d been physically damaged. Well, actually, he looked more annoyed than anything. He shook it off quickly, though, and swayed with Raymond. “How about you tell her why you wanted to see her?”

Oh, if Ray wasn’t nervous enough. He felt his throat close and his hands sweat, which seeped into the wound and burned like fire. He opened his mouth to speak but only silence followed, and silence it stayed. Until Luther nudged him did he realize that he  _ had _ to speak—Beata was becoming increasingly annoyed and he  _ never _ wanted to know her bad side. “Power,” he blurted, which was more of a guess than anything. That was what demons wanted, right? Right?

“Obviously,” she said like he was an idiot.

“She wants specifics, Ray,” Luther helped.

The gambler swallowed through a dry throat, clutching his friend’s hand. “I… uhm…” his voice cracked, “There’s this… group… of men who want me dead…”

“So you want them dead?” she filled.

But Raymond had never thought of that. He never imagined Harris and his boys to be dead. He never really wanted it or cared for it. The idea of death was just too much for him to handle. However, he didn’t deny or confirm the claim, he only replaced it with, “Gone…”

Her yellow eyes pierced through him as if she knew exactly what he thought. “Hm…” she straightened her posture, “And what do you want me to do about it?”

Luther took over, “I know you won’t do anything directly. So… Give us some sort of means to win in rough circumstances. We’ll ask for bigger things later, once a message has been laid out.”

She shook her head, “Boy,” she addressed the blonde, “I thought you were worse than to use someone else’s problems for your own benefit. If new powers were simply all you wanted…”

Raymond grew self-conscious by that, and Luther grew offended. He stepped away from Ray and planted his feet into the floor, “What the hell kind of operation do you think I’m running?” he barked, “You told me to get more people for your cause. That’s what I’m doing! Fill your end of the deal.”

Her head twisted in a grotesque manner, and she fired back with the same sass. “Don’t speak to me like you know better,” she warned.

Luther was slipping in his words, as if he were spilling a secret that just couldn’t be pinpointed, “Don’t speak to me like you’re more powerful…”

The demon was quiet.

Raymond felt… he didn’t know…

“Fill in your end of the deal. Give us what we want, then we’ll do what you want.” He added, “Unless you've just stopped caring…”

She hovered for a moment longer, her expression nor posture lapsing in authority, an authority that seemed short-lived. She puffed, “Fine,” and waved her hand through the air as she spoke, “What do you crave?” She turned to Raymond, asking again, “What do you crave? Both of you? Dominance? Or shadows?”

The gambler took that to heart, though he had little idea of what it meant. Which did he crave: dominance or shadows? What did that even entail? Dominance over what? Harris and his boys? He could hardly face anything upsetting without choking, so that may not have been the best choice. Yet, out of anxiety, he didn’t dwell on the thought for very long and babbled, “Shadows!”

Raymond forgot that she’d asked Luther, too. Ray nervously glanced at him, repeatedly, finding little comfort in his content gaze. The blonde shrugged, “Shadows,” he went along. 

Beata raised her chin. “What do I call you two?”

Raymond stared through her, thinking, wondering… This was entirely too trivial. She should just call him Raymond Earnest, right? He glanced at Luther, hoping to find assistance. And even though the blonde did nothing in particular to help, seeing his face made the gambler instantly know what to say. He wiped his hands on his pants, trying to shake off the awful feelings that corrupted him. “Zozo…” he answered.

Beata nodded, turning to Luther, who answered, “Mimi.”

“Very well.” The demon before them took her second set of hands from behind her back, tickling the air. “For both of you, I will grant you animals to find power in,” she pronounced, gesturing to Luther, “For your status, Mimi, a goat,” and two glowing yellow shapes appeared over Luther’s head, shapes that appeared to be translucent horns. He was smirking wildly as they faded away.

“And for your status, Zozo,” Beata turned to him, waving her hands, “A crow.” Raymond felt something heavy on his back, like a bag had just been thrown onto him. He turned his head to look and found a massive pair of golden, semitransparent wings. They faded within a moment’s notice and he felt lighter again.

The gambler caught sight of Luther beginning to strip his shirt from his body. Raymond was more than confused, seeing how it was so out-of-the-blue, but that wasn’t even the most compelling thing that’s happened so far. He cocked his head and raised an eyebrow, only to have the blonde chuckle at him. “You might wanna do the same thing,” he said, “It’s gonna get messy.”

That sentence intrigued Ray in the wrong way, his expression turning from confusion to surprise, and did as he was told. He slipped the coat off and gave it to the floor, the affected candles receding, and worked on the rest.

Both of them had become completely naked within a minute’s time. Though he hated himself for it, it was difficult for Raymond not to catch glances of his friend. The lump in his throat pushed into the skin and felt extremely uncomfortable, and his face was entirely too hot, which only egged onto the weirdness of this situation.

Luther drew a breath through his nose, smiling all the way, then gazing at Beata. “Hit me.”

She flicked her fingers. 

An explosion of blood erupted from the blonde’s head, spraying up to the ceiling and splattering back down to the floor. Ray shielded his eyes from the initial spray, feeling droplets of blood hit his arms and hands, and when it was done he unmasked himself. 

Two horns, very much real, occupied Luther’s skull. Blood drenched his once perfect and curly hair, covering nearly all of his face, pouring down his body. He tried to wipe the blood from his eyes, but it just flowed and flowed. Raymond felt sick and terrified, seeing his friend like that, knowing he must have been in pain. But there were no screams, no yells, no grunts or groans. How was he just  _ fine? _

Jesus,  _ that’s _ what he meant by “messy.”

In the midst of his thought, Beata turned to Raymond. He realized it was his turn, now, and couldn’t even spit the word, “Wait!” out before she flicked her fingers and an excruciating pain erupted from his back. It knocked the wind out of him and he fell to his hands and knees, gasping for air. He felt like he was dying, the pain spreading everywhere, making it feel like his feet would fall off and his head would burst from the immense throbbing. He hardly even felt the buckets and buckets of hot blood flowing down his back and spilling onto the floor. 

What he couldn’t see or care about, though, were the giant wings that had just forced their way through his skin. The black feathers were damp and the limbs limp, draping over his body. 

His vision was doubled. He wasn’t registering pain anymore. He inhaled blood and coughed it back up, eventually falling to his side into a fetal possession. His fluids stained his skin and kept pooling around him. He just wanted to pass out but felt physically unable to.

The gambler didn’t know how much time had passed. It felt like a few seconds, but it also felt like a few years of laying there, hurt, numb. His brain had shut off and he was out of commission.

… 

When he came back to, he was in a different scene. He didn’t much recognize the layout, but by the stone walls and the goosebumps on his arms, he guessed he was still in the underground base. A rectangular opening in the wall in front of him showed the way to a more familiar room—braids hanging from the ceiling and a ladder system leading up. 

He looked about, but just being able to see caused him pain. A headache similar to a hangover ate at his brain, and he brought a hand up to his temple. That’s when he felt the hands on him—hands that were  _ not _ his own—and a pressure rubbing up and down his back. 

He was sitting up but propped against something. He spied over his shoulder to find blonde hair and pale skin. Luther spoke politely, “There you are, Ray…” 

The gambler felt safer immediately and allowed his mind to calm a bit. He let whatever was happening to happen, hoping blindly that it was all for his own good. Looking down at himself, vision still a mess, he was sitting on a bench, towels draped over his legs and midsection with bloody ones at his feet. Luther was behind him, his clothed legs on either side of Ray’s and a hand on the gambler’s shoulder to ensure he didn’t fall forward. The pressure on his back moved up and down, back and forth, feeling rather soppy and squishy. Once it reached a certain spot a pain subtly traced his back, and he regained full consciousness. He hissed through his teeth and remembered what happened. He must have gone into shock.

“Where…” he mumbled, not realizing he was talking out loud, “...the demon…?”

“She’s gone, she’s gone…” Luther’s voice soothed, “That was a bit of a trip, huh?”

The wings… did he still have them? He didn’t feel them… Did Luther still have his horns? Raymond sat up, his back amazingly sore, and slouched back over again.

“Sit still,” the blonde said, “You’re okay. I’m just cleaning you up. You’re okay…”

Ray believed him without evidence. However, he still wanted to know where he was. “Where… we at…?”

“Just another section of the base, behind a bookcase,” Ray could hear the small smile in his voice, “Can’t have enough secrets, huh?” The friendliness seemed out of place, but the blonde was just trying to make his friend feel better. The gambler could appreciate that.

They sat on a round bench that surrounded a circular pool, water as clear as glass filling the volume of the semicircle. There weren’t any lights in here, just the reminisce of glowing candles from outside the room, and the stone that made up the walls, floor, and ceiling was smoothed and sans any edges. 

The gambler realized what the soppiness on his back was—his friend had a rag and had tossed it to the floor. He then reached for another and dipped it into the grand basin, taking it to Ray’s back. “It hurt?” he asked as he pushed over the wound. 

Ray huffed, “Yeah.”

“Alright… It’s healing, so just be still for a bit longer… I’m just trying to catch the blood.”

The blood… He could still feel it, spraying from his back, laying in it, breathing it. 

“See if you can heal anything else. I don’t think I got your hand.” Luther’s voice chased away the bad thoughts and gave Raymond other things to think about. He raised his left hand and looked at his palm. The slit had stopped bleeding a while ago and a tail of wrinkled skin where the centipede crawled from led down his arm. He wanted it gone, all of it gone, wanting to be able to look at his skin and not be reminded of the awfulness of that event. And so, it happened. The flesh tightened and the wound closed, and he was reminded no more. 

“She left a little after you fell,” the blonde spoke, “All of that was normal. I’ve seen it happen. I get it that it was a lot for you, so… don’t feel weird that you passed out, or anything,” he offered, “My horns and your wings were physical, but only for about a minute. They fell off afterward.”

“Fell off…?” Raymond questioned.

“Yeah. Just popped off, then crumpled up and disappeared,” Luther answered, too casually. 

The gambler… he didn’t even want to think of the logistics of that. He wanted to be more concerned aboutLuther. “Are you a`ight…?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” he set the rag down next to him, then wrapped his arms around Raymond’s midsection. The blonde’s arms tightened securely about the gambler, who was feeling… stiff. His sore back had no game compared to the warmth from Luther’s body, and though he enjoyed it, Ray couldn’t find a way to react. Not when his friend’s sigh hit the back of his neck and gave him chills, not when his head rested against his own, not even when the gambler realized he was still nude, only covered with towels. 

This security… This comfort… This safety… it brought Raymond to feel extra close with his friend… he felt happier… and there was nothing said.

  
  


* * *

  
  


The room they had left was behind a bookshelf, and they struggled to force it back into place once they were out. Raymond didn’t care about the room; he didn’t care why it was there or how it functioned. Was the water old? How was it clean? Was there a natural source? Why even keep that a secret? No, no, no questions. He didn’t care. He’d ask later if it ever came up. 

Just before they left the base, Raymond spotted a new braid on the ceiling. When he asked Luther about it, the blonde said he didn’t put it up, but they appeared after each summoning. That really set things into perspective for the gambler.

The braid was made of the feathers and hollow bones of a verdin. Small, dry, no marks or stains. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


It was late evening by the time they’d gotten back. There wasn’t much evidence of the events that had happened, except for how tired Raymond was. They’d walked into the house and Nana immediately noticed it, offering him something to eat to get his energy up, or something hot to drink to put him to sleep easier. He accepted the food and they had a late supper together; Ray excused his drowsiness for not getting enough sleep last night, which was an explanation that satisfied Nana. 

At the table, Luther said something that Raymond never thought he’d mention. “Nana,” the satanist began, “Have you told anyone about us?”

The old lady looked up from the table. “Hm?” she seemed confused, “What do you mean?” 

“Just… have you mentioned to anyone that we’ve been living here? Have you said our names?”

She thought for a moment, then answered, “Not in particular, no. Before Raymond came alone I know I told one of the shop owners that I had you with me. It wasn’t much of a conversation… I don’t think I even mentioned your name,” she pondered some more, “I haven’t gone out much. I don’t think I’ve ever truly mentioned either of you,” she looked concerned, “Why?”

Luther kept calm, “We’re just in a bit of a rough patch with a few guys. And they’re stupid, so they probably want to fight us. I just didn’t want anyone to get hurt, I especially don’t want you in trouble,” he smiled, “It’s nothing bad. Should be forgotten about in a few weeks. Just keep doing what you're doing, we’re fine.”

Nana Clark sighed, not liking it, but unable to do much else. “Alright…!”

They ate the rest of their dinner in peace.

Soon enough into the night, Nana went to bed. Luther and Raymond kept downstairs for a while until the blonde was entirely sure that the old lady was sound asleep. He stood from the couch and stretched out, arms over his head, swinging his elbows, arching his back. “Alright,” he spoke quietly, “Let’s try this stuff out.”

Raymond raised a brow, staying on the couch. He watched and waited either for an explanation or for something to happen. 

Luther put his arms at his sides, bouncing around a little, “Hopefully this won’t hurt,” he shrugged, which concerned Ray, but the change was too quick to stop. The gambler watched as his friend morphed and shifted before his eyes. Sickening cracks and crushing noises transmitted from his body as it shrunk and reduced. Pale hair grew all over him, his face elongating, his ears becoming floppy. This all happened within a second, and Ray couldn’t even see it all as the mass twisted away and remolded back to a normal state. Standing before the gambler on wobbly legs was a cream-colored goat, perfectly smooth and slightly-curly horns upon its head, yellow eyes looking down at itself. Was that really…? “Luther?” Ray stood.

The goat responded to the name, appearing to smile. It bleated quietly and happily, bouncing up and down at the gambler’s feet. Awestruck and baffled, Raymond watched the animal with his jaw on the floor. The goat bounded and danced in circles before twirling and its body cracked again, growing and morphing until it turned to Luther, wobbly on his feet. He was laughing, thrilled and delighted, taking Ray by both arms. “Did you  _ see _ that?!”

“Shh!” Raymond beckoned while laughing, “How the hell did you do that?”

“I just,” the blonde tugged on Ray, “I can’t even explain it…! You try, just try! Just think, think hard,” he urged, “C’mon,  _ c’mon c’mon c’mon! _ ”

Raymond pulled his hands away from the satanist, unable to keep a smile from his face. He stood and cleared his throat, as if he were about to do a speech, and compared the moment to everything else he’s thought about. Waking up the bird, controlling the dog, healing his hands… Just think… and it will happen.

A crow, a crow… 

It took a little longer than anticipated. A few seconds felt like a few awkward hours until Raymond could  _ feel everything _ . His bones popped and cracked as if he were stretching out, his skin felt like it was moving on its own. He looked down at his hands and found coal-black feathers growing from his fingers. Once he started the transformation he couldn’t stop and wasn’t able to catch all the change. Before he knew it he was staring through the eyes of something amazingly small. His balance was off as his chin hit the floor, and he realized there was a giant beak on his face.

Colors were more vibrant than they were before, and everything around him was humongous. He felt helpless and vulnerable, and oh-so-different. He pushed himself off the floor, standing on two spindly legs and housing two heavy arms—no, wings. He spun around, finding Luther and looking up at the enormousness that he was. Ray’s tiny heart raced and he could hear it in his body, wanting to jump, wanting to yell, wanting to  _ fly. _ Could he fly?

“Look at you…!” Luther crouched down next to the crow, looking at him with wide eyes. 

Ray wanted to speak back to his friend, but all that came out were coos.  _ Can’t talk as a bird, _ he guessed _. _ He walked around the blonde but felt entirely awkward while doing so. He could only take tiny steps and scoot along, and when he tried to take larger steps he was swinging his rather large feet out and nearly stumbling over. “Hop! Try hopping,” Luther suggested.

The crow hopped and it felt entirely more natural. He spread his wings as he did, just having fun with it, and decided he’d try to get some air. He flapped his arms—nope, wings, again—and his light body got some lift. He soared for a short distance before hitting the ground and nearly falling to his face again. Luther followed, laughing, “You got it, c’mon.”

Raymond took off behind the couch and jumped as high as he could, flapping his wings and getting some real air. He made it up higher than Luther, swerving and knowing he must have looked hilarious trying to navigate the living room. He was moving very fast for such a little space and decided to land before anything drastic may have happened. The bird aimed for the top of the couch, his feet hitting it, but realized too soon that he’d been going too quickly. The rest of his weight came forward and he flipped off to the back of the couch, and Luther was trying to stifle laughter as he hurried over. “You alright…?” he giggled. 

Ray thought it was probably time to get out of this phase of his. Cracks and pops filled the air as he grew larger and lost his feathers, and there on the floor lay the body of a man. He sat up, taking in the colors and feeling his surroundings. Everything was normal once more.

Luther helped him to his feet and they laughed a bit, commenting on how crazy it felt and how fun it would be to screw with people. Soon after, the blonde tried to shift back, but to no avail, and Raymond was in the same boat. They figured it was a once-a-day sort of thing… they  _ hoped _ it was a once-a-day sort of thing.

The night was getting older and older. They made talk on the couch, Raymond read through another of his books—this one about the very demon they summoned. He was quiet, Luther was quiet, everything was quiet… 

Ray was busy pretending to read the introduction. Luther was busy pretending to rest his eyes. The gambler took a break from his masquerade, sighing silently. He thought about everything that happened in the last few hours… Controlling the dog, slicing the bird, the centipede in his arm, summoning the demon, the horns, the wings, the powers… All through that, he’d just pretended to accept it. He felt like he shouldn’t have. He  _ knew _ he shouldn’t have. No sane man would ever just live with the craziness unfolding before him without a single puzzling thought.

He forced himself to come up with questions.

“Luther?” he asked, “Can I ask a few things?”

The blonde’s eyes opened in response and a small smile decorated his face. “I was starting to worry you never would,” he commented, “Yeah, go ahead.”

First up, “What was her name again?”

“Beata,” Luther adjusted himself, getting comfortable.

“Bee-atta,” again, that was all that Ray heard, “Uhm… Why did she leave?”

“She was finished with her task, and we weren’t able to keep her for long.”

“I… I coulda guessed that,” Ray tried to arrange his words as he spoke, “I s’pose I mean…  _ why _ … I dunno.”

Luther smiled, “Like, why she left for Hell and didn’t stay on Earth? `Cause she’s got close ties with the Devil. She’s needed, she can’t stay here.”

“How close?”

The blonde gauged, “I’d wager she handles most of the mortal affairs. She sees what humans are up to and reports back.” He shrugged, “But that’s just a guess.”

Even for a guess, Raymond was impressed. He figured being in the business for that long just brought little details to know. “Why’d she need to be summoned if her job is to be with us?”

“She never  _ needs _ to be summoned. No greater demons need to. It’s just…” he drummed his fingers, “Demons probably roam Earth more often than you realize, and they definitely screw with us, too. But they keep that secret; from us, from saints, from God. That way they don’t get their asses handed to them.

“But if they can get a mortal to bow to them, that’s when they can unmask themselves. That’s when they can do real damage. And, if a human is good enough, that patron will actually give some things back in return.”

Little by little, Ray was understanding. He asked another question, “When she was givin` us them powers, you know how you got the horns and I got the wings?”

Luther nodded.

“Did… you pass out?”

Luther shook his head. “No, I didn’t. And it’s perfectly normal that you did,” he told his friend, “I’ve just worked up a bit of a tolerance to that, I guess.”

That seemed to be more than a ‘tolerance.’ Raymond recalled every moment—there was so much blood, all coming from his skull, and the blonde didn’t even frown? How  _ tolerant _ was he? How strong was he?

How strong…

That reminded him of something Luther had said directly to Beata.  _ Don’t speak to me like you’re more powerful…  _ What the hell did that mean? That was a  _ human _ telling that to a  _ demon _ . How strong was Luther to be more powerful than a demon? How was that even possible?

He had to ask.

“Luther,” he started, “Are you…” No, take it back, “Who’s stronger?”

The blonde raised a brow, “Between who?”

“You and Beata.”

The satanist seemed to be confused as to why he would ask that. Then, that glimmer in his eyes changed and he knew  _ exactly _ what Raymond meant. “Oh,” his tapping fingers became faster, and his smirk became… smaller. That was new. “That bitch has been on my tail before,” he said, “I’ve worked with her as my patron for a while. I know a few things that could irk her. It’s… risky… but I’m alright.”

For some reason, Raymond hated that. Out of everything, that seemed the most bizarre, the most far-fetched to him. The lack of detail, the nervousness in Luther’s voice, the possibilities… it all seemed fake. He didn’t bother with it, though. He didn’t want to dig a hole he couldn’t climb out of later on. And so, he left the night there. Extra small talk occurred, but nothing else. Eventually, they both went to bed.

  
  


* * *

  
  


The teenager was cooped up in a dirty, dark corner. He sat with his knees pulled into his chest, messing with his digits. Rain beat down on the house he took shelter in, making him oh-so cold, and he counted the goosebumps.

Crying could be heard outside, so loud, too loud. He recognized the voices that sobbed, he recognized every one of them, but didn’t care about a single one. He wouldn’t show his face. He wouldn’t go outside.

The rain became heavier. Droplets the sizes of grown men slammed into the roof of the shelter, shaking the walls and threatening to take it down. The windows were leaking as his world was becoming submerged. He felt so tiny, like an ant trapped within the last bit of its bastion, just waiting for the ocean of tears to swallow it up. 

There were people outside who cried. He could have asked for assistance. But the teenager didn’t move. He wouldn't show his face. He wouldn’t go outside. 

The windows opened on their own, allowing gallons and gallons of tears to enter the tiny, tiny house. They flooded the room with all the bottled-up rage that he possessed. The icy, colorless waves went straight for him.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Raymond woke up with a noise, his voice emitting a sound of panic that was purely instinctual. He shot off the couch, not realizing he was standing until he nearly fell over from the shock. His dry throat swallowed up air and his hand clutched his chest, his heart beating out of it.

The dark, still room reminded him where he was. He recognized it; the furnishing, the fireplace, the doorways, and the stairs—most importantly, though, it was dry. Everything was dry… 

He recollected himself once he caught his breath. His heart rate slowed and the nervousness was extinguished. He stood there, in the midst of the room…

_ Jesus _ , one more nightmare and he might…

He heard footsteps upstairs. His head mindlessly swiveled to face the noises of creaking and thumping. Ray’s mind wandered dangerous thoughts until landing on the realization that it was Luther. He remembered the last time. 

The gambler let out a long, deep breath as he sat on the couch. One more nightmare…

He didn’t even want to go upstairs and check on his friend. He remembered being told not to, anyway. It would have been better if he just left him alone…

Raymond listened to Luther’s night terror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys have any questions, feel free to comment them. As a lone creator of the story and beholder of all knowledge of it, I don’t always remember/know what to explain. Ye ask and ye shall be answered in future chapters!


	10. Shatter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Romans 1:27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !Sensitive Imagery Warning!  
> !Gore Warning!

Plenty of time had passed since they last visited the underground base. Since then, a few things had been figured out. For starters, their crow and goat powers were only able to be used once a day. Fortunately for Raymond, but unfortunately for Luther, they hadn’t used it to screw with anyone yet. The gambler kept telling his friend off for that and warned him of the risks if they got caught. A lot of daring actions and a lot of teasing took place during those conversations. 

Secondly, Luther took the time out of one of his days to give Raymond an extra, smaller power. The whole ritual consisted of a lot of hands and a lot of blood, as they usually did. Raymond could still feel the agony tingling through his digits when having to slit up the center of each of them with extreme accuracy. He hardly paid attention to what his mentor did to give him the power after that, the gambler was too busy trying not to faint. For some reason, that was a bad one. Maybe it was seeing his veins under his skin, perfectly cut, pounding with blood… It was a memory that Raymond would have rather forgotten. But, it turned out fine—his fingers were healed and he had a new ability. The gambler was now able to retrieve things through impossible means. He just thought of an object close to him, it would disappear from its spot, and reappear in his hands in the blink of an eye. This could be used at any time, too—he was constantly trying it on little objects like shoes or silverware. Bigger objects he wasn’t able to do, just the things he could easily hold in one hand. And it would only work on things he could see or might be able to see in the area. No way to get the Hope Diamond, unfortunately. 

Luther admitted he didn’t use this one that often, but gave Ray this very specific ability for a very specific reason: gambling. For that past couple of weeks, they’d been delving deep into the game, but the rules and tricks weren’t what they were concerned about. It was the ability to snag cards from the deck without anyone noticing. Using his power to sneak aces, pull the opponent’s leg, all for  _ playful revenge _ .

Besides that, Raymond was all caught up on reading. The details on Beata were in his mind, how she was more mature than other chaotic demons and played by all the rules. Everything that happened to Ray had summed up Beata’s basic abilities, and there weren’t many surprises. If only he’d read that book  _ before _ the summoning. 

Another book was about a separate brand of demons: shapeshifters. These guys could turn into anyone, anything, or any place, no matter how big or small. Entire scenes could change because of these tricksters, and when you least expected it, they would reappear in their usual form and do whatever they wanted to you. Possession, torture, or just leaving you with some whacky memories. Typically, there was one  _ great _ shapeshifter, and they would get switched around every few decades if another rose to greater power. Turns out, Luther summoned the current shifter of hell, and he was wanting to do it again to show Raymond the different sides of demons, hinting that this one was extremely chaotic.

Now, however, they were at the bar that they swore not to go back to because of the dangers. Raymond was nervously fiddling with his hands under the table and Luther sat next to him, waiting for Harris & Co. Today they’d play cards. And, if everything went smoothly, today they’d win. 

The gambler knew how risky it was seeing those men here. If they decided to pull a gun right away it would probably end messily. Luther assured him that’s not how it would go down—and if it was, he’d make sure nobody gets hurt. It was hard to shake bad feelings, though.

Hours passed; they played against a few others for practice, making some small money. Soon after, the door opened, and in walked Harris and his boys. They caught wind of each other almost instantaneously and the tension rose quickly.

Meaningless small talk was traded. Questions were raised and dropped. A game was offered.

Raymond readied himself. Time to work his magic.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Luther slapped Raymond on the back, laughing and clumsy, a little drunker than he should have been. “F-ckin` Ray! You glorious son of a bitch!”

The (sober) gambler was laughing, trying to keep the money folded in his pockets. He threw an arm over Luther’s back, holding the blonde’s wrist with his arm around the back of his neck. He didn’t want his friend to fall and be laughing on the ground with a tooth knocked out. “One foot in front of the other, Luther. When we get home we can celebrate some more.”

“Ehhh…!” Curly hair fell over a heavy skull, and he kept giggling. “You f-ckin` beautiful man, you~”

Ray grinned and shook his head, carrying his friend along. “Thanks, Luther.”

They’d played until midnight, game after game, win after win. It was nerve-racking at the start, trying to stealthily slip cards if he was ever behind, trying to keep a straight face throughout the whole thing. But he started to get the hang of it, and then he started to get good at it, and then really good. And then, he won  _ every single game _ . Every round he got some cash—he couldn’t keep track of how many rounds or how much money he earned. He knew, though, that it was the heaviest wad of cash he’d ever held. Luther played with him until Raymond was comfortable, then he backed out and started grabbing drink after drink. He let himself go, got amazingly drunk, and cheered on Ray (rather obnoxiously). Finally, finally, when Harris and his boys had no more to offer, they furiously quit and left the bar. Now, the satanists were on their way home. 

The blonde was continuously humming a broken song in his tone-deaf and drunk state. He stopped walking after a while, just dragging his feet, and every attempt to wake him up was futile. Raymond eventually stopped, kneeled over to put his shoulders against Luther’s stomach, and lifted him up. The gambler held onto his friend’s legs and arms and walked with a hunch to ensure the blonde didn’t fall. 

As he walked, he felt something… off. He listened, hearing nothing. Luther wasn’t humming—he must have really fallen asleep. The cicadas weren’t singing—it was autumn, of course they weren’t, there were none around. Did he remember the path?—he’s been here for a few months, he definitely knew the route back home. What was it, then?

Was someone… watching him? He peered about, trying to catch anyone lurking in the dark, but couldn’t find a single soul. He took a breath and sighed. It must just be in his head. The excitement was wearing off and the aftermath was getting to him. That was all…

He continued to walk, shaking off the feeling. The cold air helped to distract him from his paranoia. He’d need to get bigger clothes for winter. Jesus, what about Luther? He was probably freezing in his flimsy shirt. That’s what they should do to celebrate tomorrow… Shop for clothes… Just spend some time together… Alone…

Raymond didn’t feel alone. He picked up the pace a bit.

He passed shops with large windows, his reflection staring back at him as he moved by. Ahead was a closed store with a half-hexagonal-shaped storefront, large windows across it. Ray couldn’t see what was supposed to be offered inside, the curtains were closed, but he could see himself in the dark reflection before he was close. And not too far behind him was a figure.

Raymond felt his blood run cold and he turned, giving the person behind him a glance. Walking with a mission was the lumberjack-looking man who was a part of Harris’ group. He had something in his hand… 

They met eyes for less than a moment and the gambler immediately turned away, hurrying along. He watched the window intently and panicked when he saw the lumberjack raise his arm. That was a gun he had, no way it wasn’t. Ray trotted past the shop, adrenaline kicking in.

An ear-shattering noise rang through the air as a different window broke just ahead of him. He gasped and veered between the two buildings, diving into the alleyway. That guy just tried to shoot him! Sh-t, this was water too deep for him. 

Raymond knew he only had a small moment of safety. The alleyway was cut off by the wall of the park—there was nowhere to run. Sh-t, sh-t, “F-ck…” he hissed, setting Luther down.

The blonde was standing with feet sloppily placed, partially woken—either from the gunshot or from the movement, Ray didn’t know. It didn’t matter. He shook his friend a bit, thinking of an almost perfect idea. “Luther…! Luther, you have to turn into a goat,” he whispered.

“Ray…” the satanist rubbed his face, “You’re not… ugh…”

“Luther,  _ please _ …! One of Harris’ boys is here, he’s got a gun. Turn into a goat, please…!” his voice shook and he felt sweat dripping down his brow. 

His friend only looked at him. 

Ray could hear the quick-paced footsteps of the lumberjack approaching. The gambler thought of turning into a crow without Luther, but he couldn't just leave him! The only option was to fight back, right? F-ck, this was how he died…

“ _ Please…! _ ” he tried one last time, then let his friend go. It was no use arguing with a drunk man. The alley was empty, not counting the stray leaves that had snuck in from the park, but there was nothing to hide behind. He grabbed his head and bounced on his toes, ready to throw a punch, when he heard popping and cracking next to him. Luther was shrinking, changing. 

Raymond could have screamed in triumph, but instead used his last moment of time to shift into a bird. Not a blink of an eye later and there was the gunman, wild eyes scanning the alleyway with his handgun drawn.

The crow hopped backward and away from the lumberjack, sticking close to the goat who was on the ground, chin in the dirt and leaves, eyes half-closed. The man looked down at the animals in confusion and Raymond thought for sure that this giant could see his face on the bird. However, the gunman paid them no mind and walked deeper into the alleyway.

The crow tried to make himself far from noticeable, huddling against the wall, making no noise, not being anything close to a nuisance in case this guy wanted to take his anger out on two harmless animals. The lumberjack inspected the wall—Ray assumed he was looking for footholds or anything that would have gotten the two satanists over. The big guy shook his head and swore, looking down the walls of either building for doors or entrances. The crow stayed very close to the goat, watching the lumberjack.

Eventually, the gunman left the alleyway, searching back and forth down the pavement, before leaving the way he came. Raymond hopped away from his friend, clumsily fluttering up to the roof of one of the buildings, staring at the lone man until he could see him no more.

_ Holy sh-t…  _ The gambler had just dodged a bullet—literally. Cheating his success at gambling was one thing, but cheating death was another. The adrenaline that filled him was fueled solely by anxiety and panic, and it didn’t leave him for a while. 

He looked over the roof, finding the sleeping goat still laying there. Thank… whoever was in the works at the moment for making that happen. That could have been… the end…

The crow awkwardly flew down to the earth, hopping into the alley and standing next to the goat. He rested easily, completely oblivious to the danger that was so close to them just then. Just a while longer to ensure the lumberjack was truly gone and Ray would switch back. 

The gambler ended up having to carry a goat back home, unable to make his friend turn back. Once in the neighborhood, he woke up and started making protracted and ongoing noises, just the weirdest sounds a goat could make as his head hung backward.

Raymond was nervous about taking him inside the house but knew he had no other choice. But of course, the door was locked, and Luther was the one with the key on him. No clothes on the goat, though, only on the person. Thankfully, after a bit of shaking, his friend switched back and Ray was able to check his pockets for the key. He opened the door, dragged his friend in, locked up the fort, and took him upstairs. 

Trying to stay silent was nearly impossible with all the tripping and gibberish Luther was doing. The man wanted to go to the restroom and forced Ray along with him, holding onto him and getting loud every time the gambler tried to leave. The key was for Ray to wet a rag and clean up his friend’s face, and then quickly throw him over his shoulder and carry him to his room. However, that was… sort of a mistake.

The gambler put his friend in his bed, making sure he was alright, but when he tried to leave the room, Luther clawed at his arm. Ray wasn’t so much hurt as he was puzzled, however what came next flipped his mood. 

“Raymond…” Luther whispered, snaking his fingers up the gambler’s sleeve and attempting to pull him closer, “Stay with me…”

The gambler blinked, unsure. 

A hand made its way to his chest, pulling on his collar. “Stay in bed with me… Hold me…”

Ray’s face grew hot and he was feeling very uncomfortable. “Uhm…”

“Please, Raymond…?”

He cleared his throat, “I… I can’t.” 

“Why not…?” 

The gambler knew better. He recognized the slurred speech and the emotions masked by alcohol. It didn’t matter what Luther said, he didn’t actually want it. It didn’t matter what Luther did, he didn’t actually want it. It didn’t matter how badly Raymond wanted it… Luther didn’t. And that was all that mattered.

He managed to remove the blonde’s hands from himself and set them at his friend’s sides. “Goodnight, Luther.” He stood straight and stepped back.

The satanist smiled and put his head upon the pillow, stretching while down, uncaring. Ray quickly escaped the room and shut the door behind him, letting out a heavy sigh even though he wanted to yell. His stomach hurt, his hands were shaking, his lip quivered. He leaned against the door and keeled over, feeling sick.

He almost died that night. He and Luther, both. And he almost felt something real. Not the bullet, per se, but the thing that his friend had offered him. 

He stood back up, taking his hat off, letting his loud mind scream into the darkness. 

He wanted to go home…

  
  


* * *

  
  


A few days passed. Ray told Luther about what happened while he was drunk. They didn’t tell Nana about the night or about the cash. They stashed the money in a vase in Luther’s room. $648.73. They were filthy rich in money, using it on hardly anything but groceries for Nana.

They hadn’t seen Harris or his boys for the time being but were still very cautious when they went out in public. They knew they had run those men broke, and they’d be in deep trouble if they were caught alone by the company. 

At the same time, though, they knew they’d scared Harris. And he’d be out of commission for a bit while he tried to get that lump of cash back. 

Raymond didn’t talk about the bedroom incident.

Today they were out in the town, dressed in heavy coats to repel the cold, doing nothing else but walking about. Most of the outdoor shops had closed for the season, and there were few people out in this weather. 

“You know what we should do,” Luther stated, “We should go to the base. See if we can wiggle anything more out of our friend for you.”

Ray raised a brow. “You think she’ll do it?”

“Well, because of recent events, I don’t see why she wouldn’t. You’ll need something a bit more than what you have to keep yourself safe.”

The gambler wasn’t expecting to do something that extreme today, but he supposed today was as good a day as any. He didn’t argue.

“C`mon,” Luther turned his way toward the park. 

Raymond blinked. It was fairly early in the day, before noon. He didn’t expect to do something that extreme at  _ this time _ of day. Again, though, he didn’t argue. Luther knew what he was doing.

They walked along, not making much small talk. The blonde was humming a pretty melody, wandering alongside the gambler. Raymond enjoyed his voice as they went forth, cherishing when Luther would sing a few verses and his smooth voice would ride the harsh air. There was so much character in the way he sang, so much sorrow and emotion… Ray clung to his voice as he thought.

Beata had given him a fairly nifty ability. But, at the same time, so had Luther. In fact, Luther had given him many. He wondered about what the difference was between his patron gifting powers and the blonde gifting powers, and came to the conclusion of how big and small the abilities were. Being able to have items and control small animals was only so useful, he realized. Being able to transform into a completely separate entity was beyond his comprehension, and based on the usefulness of shapeshifters that he read about, it must have been an amazing feat. But then he thought about the versatility of being able to mend small wounds at any given time. He’s used that ability so often, sometimes he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. Then again, he knew Luther was pretty skilled at what he did. He was able to heal some major wounds, like the tears in Ray’s back from when they summoned Beata. Minor ones were definitely on the lower scale. Or maybe it just wasn’t that big of a deal to have that ability in hell. The demons there, they were already dead, what was a little cut or a bruise to them? 

Raymond’s thoughts were interrupted when a familiar dog entered his line of sight. The stray mastiff trotted across the street and came to the two of them, looking for attention. Ray welcomed it with a pat and it walked with them.

“Ray,” Luther said, “Keep that dog with us. We’ll use it.”

That command almost broke the gambler. “What?” he retorted, denying that he understood. And when the full picture set in, he hated it. “Why can’t we just use a bird?”

“If you want a power that’ll protect you, she’ll want something bigger this time.”

Raymond’s mood was ruined entirely, and he felt like he was obligated to protect this animal. “But… He’s…”

Luther put a knowing hand on the gambler’s back. “Ray, that dog’s a stray. Winter’s on its way; if it doesn’t starve, it’ll freeze to death,” he tried, but it seemed unsympathetic, “Might as well make its death useful.”

Ray knew he shouldn’t have been getting defensive over a dog. He tried to keep his mouth shut and his mind beyond the moment, but damnit, it was hard. “We can’t keep him?”

Luther chuckled but pitied his friend at the same time. “No, we can’t. Ray, it’ll be okay. I’ll summon her this time if you want.”

The gambler sighed. “I…”

Luther patted him on the shoulder, “It’ll be okay.”

Ray got his pets in while he could. 

They made their way to the gates of the park—a few times the mastiff tried to walk off, and it almost killed Raymond to make him stay. When Luther caught the drift that Ray might have cried if he had to make the dog follow them one more time, he took over and handled everything else. 

The gambler felt so uncomfortable by being so upset but forgave himself when seeing that the blonde was almost  _ joking _ about the situation. Ray knew this must have been entirely normal for Luther, but still held a tiny grudge for his friend being so insensitive about his feelings. 

Quickly enough, they found the hatch. It was then that Raymond realized that there would virtually be no way to get this giant dog down the ladder, and thought for sure that Luther would give up.

But, the blonde was raising the hatch, and before he could be stopped he pushed the dog down the hole. 

Raymond brought his hands to his face in shock and trauma as he heard the animal smack against metal and stone until landing at the bottom with a loud and harsh  _ thud _ . He shook his head, hiding his face from the cruelty dressed in a coat and a smile. 

“C`mon, Ray,” the cruelty beckoned.

Ray bit his tongue and forced himself not to lose it, following Luther down the ladder and closing the hatch. His heart was already heavy and pussing sorrow from just the thought of seeing the mastiff, broken on the ground, bleeding from the mouth, but still alive. He heard Luther hit the floor and knew he was close to seeing it.

The lights were on before he was completely down, which meant there would be no wait to witness the dying dog. He came out of the tunnel and into the room, stepping off of the ladder and turning, ready to shield his eyes once he saw the awfulness…

...but there was so much more to see than that.

The mastiff wasn’t on the floor, broken, or bleeding from the mouth. In fact, at first, Raymond had no clue where it was and the hope that it was okay entered his thoughts. It was very quickly ripped away, though, and replaced with the horror that was before him. 

There, on the table, crammed within the birdcage, was the dog… or a mutation of what it used to be. The large animal looked like it had been turned inside out and tied up, pink muscle bulging out from between the bars of the cage, blue and red nerves branching across the pussing, pulsing mass, the remains of crushed bone littering the bundle like glitter. Raymond’s eyes tried to find familiarity within the shape, and some things he could recognize, but they were in all the wrong places. An inside-out leg was jutting from what appeared to be the mouth, teeth lining the mass, tongue swollen and beating like a heart. He found an eyeball near the top, being split down the middle by one of the bars of the cage. Its intestines were wrapped around the entire shape, squeezing it like a snake. 

This image had even Luther frozen, his eyes wide and his jaw hanging. “Sh-t…” he breathed, “Beata’s pissed.”

Raymond hardly heard him. He was unconsciously stepping closer. Luther allowed it.

The gambler got a better… well, a  _ worse _ look at it. It was making a noise, like a mutated whine, trying to be the animal it used to be. The mass moved and quivered, trying to get out of the cage, trying to get closer to Raymond. It squished and dripped, making its awful noises. This thing… it was still alive. This thing was the mastiff. It was still… trying…

The smell hit Ray’s nose, and that’s when it became too much. It was a hot, thick aroma, preserved for something disgusting and wicked. It smelled like vomit and rotten food, and it made the gambler sick. He covered his mouth and nose and stepped back, turning away from the helpless mass.

Luther was already there next to him, coat unbuttoned, pulling his shirt over his nose. He took his winter wear off and threw it aside. He then took the handle of the cage and pulled it from the table, the metal base hitting the floor heavily. “Raymond, grab a knife.”

The gambler hurried over to the chest where he remembered the daggers were. Along the way he removed his coat and gave it to the floor. He opened it up and found a surplus of blades, glimmering in the golden light. He took one without putting much thought into choosing and turned back, finding Luther at the wooden door. He’d opened it and lifted the cage as the mass made an awful, helpless noise; Luther carried it through. Ray didn’t want to follow, not one bit, but knew he had to. He closed the door behind them and the candles came to life. 

The satanist tossed the mass into the bare spot in the room, the cage toppling over and rolling on its side. The mutation cried out something so painful and depressing it forced Raymond to take his eyes off of it. He kept his sight on the ground as he handed Luther the dagger. 

The blonde appeared to be slightly perplexed. He hesitated before acting, like he was questioning what to do, but shook his head as if shaking off the confusion and acted. He dragged the knife across his palm, then handed it back to the gambler. “Cut your hand and drip the blood, that’s all I’ll have you do.” His voice was rushed and focused.

Ray quickly snagged the knife and slit his skin, holding his breath as his hand hung over the cage. Once a few drops made their way down, Luther pushed him back and excused him from the summoning. The blonde began to chant.

Raymond knew for sure that this was just as bad as the first time. Sure, the first time was just that, a first, so Ray was completely new and susceptible to all sorts of damage. The centipede crawling under his skin still made him itch when he thought about it, and having passed out due to  _ that much _ blood loss, then having to lay in it was entirely awful. But this time was damn close, if not worse, than the first. The terrible thought of a dog—a creature that Raymond used to find comfort in—being turned into  _ that _ , because why? “Beata’s pissed,” Luther had said. Haha! Imagine the wrath of a demon! What invoked her anger? And what would be her next victim? The air of the base was off and just smelled furious, something so backward but entirely real. Ray held his cut hand to his face, preferring the smell of his blood rather than the stench of that mass in the center of the room. He favored to the point where he enjoyed it. The other arm wrapped around his midsection, trying to prevent him from becoming sick. 

A black, twisted cloud made its way from pale hands and around the circumference of the ring. The words that were expelled from his lips were rushed and extremely concentrated; he was trying to hurry the process along, Ray could tell.

Raymond rolled up his sleeve on his left arm, watching closely for the rise in his skin, fearing the centipede. He expected it to appear again and worm its way to the slit in his hand, and just knowing this would happen was almost too much for him. He clamped his eyes shut and clenched his teeth, hating it, hating all of it.

Luther called the demon’s name, and glancing up, Ray saw the mass of muscle escape its tiny prison. It shot into the air, spraying fluids, twisting into the form of a large humanoid. The pink organs and muscles blackened and decayed, being replaced by leathery flesh. 

In a moment’s notice, Luther had stopped speaking and the demon took form. Her golden eyes were the last things to morph, and they pierced through everything in the room. Beata was there in all her glory, the sharp features of her face already twisted into a scowl. 

Raymond felt slightly relieved, but only because he realized that no invertebrate would be crawling from his flesh today.

Luther was standing his ground as she hissed, “ _ What is it? _ ”

The blonde acted chummy. “You seem upset.”

“Don’t waste my  _ f-cking _ time,” she snapped, “Tell me what you want and let’s get this over with.”

Raymond nervously stood aside as his friend summarized, “Fine, fine. We’re on bad terms with that group of guys, you know. Well, actually, we’re on deadly terms with them. One’s got a gun and just about got the best of us both the other night,” Luther gestured to Ray, “He needs some abilities to help him out. Level the playing field a bit.”

Beata seemed even more frustrated, “If  _ he _ wanted them, why did  _ he _ not summon me?”

“It shouldn’t matter who asked for you,” Luther argued, “Just give him something good and don’t waste  _ my _ f-cking time,” he mocked.

Raymond stared at Beata, extremely paranoid about Luther giving her a tone and her obvious annoyance. Her yellow eyes landed on the gambler, and she quickly waved her hand towards him. 

Suddenly, it felt as if a million hands were all over Ray. Large hands, tiny hands, ones that were dirty, ones that had claws, ones that scratched, and ones that pulled. They pinched his skin so hard he could feel their fingernails touch inside, and they opened his flesh as if he was shaving his skin off with a razor, strip by strip. He panicked and cried out, swearing and trying to get away, but they kept him still. 

He watched in his turmoil as Beata shot a look at Luther, then disappeared in a mass of insects. Her body had broken up into hundreds of oversized crickets that chirped as they jerked to the ground, then shriveled up and flaked away. 

The feeling of hands had vanished as soon as the demon had, and Ray nearly fell to the ground after that. Every limb stung with cuts, every muscle ached. He brought a hand up to his face, touching the side of it—sure enough, the cuts were very much real and occupied multiple spots across his cheeks.

Luther didn’t catch much wind of Ray’s situation. Rather, he was setting up for what looked like another summoning. “That session was hella short. I’m thinking we can pull another out of that.”

Though his entire body stung, he still tried to stop his friend. “No, don’t summon her again!” He took a few steps forward. 

“I’m not, I’m not. Calm down,” Luther assured, “Don’t worry about what I’m doing. Fix yourself up.”

Ray felt a weight come off of his chest, and with those words he remembered all his abilities—including his new one. As he healed himself he tried to find any information in his head about this new power of his but recalled nothing. It wasn’t as if anything was obvious, either. Were the hands supposed to symbolize something? Could he grow claws, now? No, that didn’t seem right. It didn’t help that the way Luther talked made his request so vague—what the hell could Beata have given the gambler? Whatever it was, the blonde didn’t seem too worried about, as he was already speaking gibberish and beginning another summoning. 

Raymond stood back, completely healed now. He didn’t realize you could summon two different demons in one session, but the—wait, who was he summoning? If it wasn’t Beata… 

Luther dripped his blood into the pentagram, Ray finding that the cage empty but still wet from the mass. He watched closely, wondering what would appear next. God, this was all happening too quickly…

His eyes caught no new shapes as the cloud swarmed or as Luther’s words ended. The summoning was over within a few seconds, and it appeared to not have even worked.

The two of them stood there for a long moment, waiting for nothing. Ray eyed Luther, curious and confused.

… 

Eventually, Raymond opened his mouth to speak, when suddenly the cage in the pentagram jerked, rolling a bit. Luther wasn’t close enough to have kicked it, and there was nothing else in the room. Both of their eyes focused on that, now. 

The cage jerked again, and again, and then hopped up in the air, hovering. It spun and twisted and morphed, growing amazingly larger and becoming organic. Skin and hair came from its metal surface, and they shaped into a humanoid… with a laugh. The laugh of a man, to be exact, as he was birthed into reality. 

Standing before them was a black man with a  _ very _ distinct look. It wasn’t his loose clothes that were surprisingly modern, it wasn’t his long, coal-black hair that was messily tied into braids and knots, it wasn’t his goatee that came to a point on his chin and indirectly made his face look longer, and it wasn’t the pointy nose that reminded the gambler of Pinocchio. It was the wings on his back, wings that belonged to a dragon in a folktale, giant and grey and tough. It was the three horns upon his head, two smaller ones above each brow, carvings in the keratin, and one prominent horn just above the center of his forehead. And it was his eyes; his right eye was fine, entirely normal, but his left was impossibly different. The white of the eye had been stained black, and instead of a pupil and iris, there was a white, cloudy center replacing them. The man’s smile was unmistakably wicked, and he danced with joy out of the ring. “ _ Hahaha! _ ” he laughed, seeing Luther and taking hold of him. His feet lifted from the air as he spun and floated, tossing the blonde around. “I was wondering when you’d bring me back!” He floated up and curled around Luther’s neck, his body shifting into a long, grey and silver snake. The animal’s body tightened around the blonde’s neck, and Luther seemed only slightly compelled to do something about it. He pulled on the snake, grumbling, “You’re lucky I even considered it.”

The snake uncoiled itself and lunged from the blonde’s body, changing midair back to his human-like self. “Oh, but you would have never been able to see my beautiful face~ That’s a loss for both of us, really,” his voice was earthy, like he’d smoked for the better portion of his life, but higher-pitched to match his mischievous personality. 

Raymond found himself mesmerized by the creature before him, fixated on that one odd eye. The humanoid before him caught him staring, and made a show of it. “Oh, who is this?” he danced over, his arms growing and changing as he went. They became giant and furry, his fingers growing razor-sharp claws. The two massive hands cupped Raymond’s entire head, and the man’s face was eye-to-eye with the gambler’s. “Pretty thing for me~?”

“Not for you,” Luther huffed, walking over, “So, hands off.”

The humanoid kept a sly and toothy grin as he pulled his hands away, one of the colossal claws cutting Ray’s jawline. “He looks awful cute, don’t he, though?” the man commented whilst his arms returned to normal, “You got  _ lucky~ _ ”

Raymond realized who this was. Upon recalling the books he read and what Luther hinted they’d be summoning, he understood that this must have been a shapeshifter—a powerful demon in Hell. Ray stayed frozen with his thoughts, only moving to bring his fingertips up to the scrape on his face.

“Raymond,” Luther stepped over, “Meet Trace.” He cozied his hand into the crook of Ray’s back, making a subtle attempt to shake the gambler from his faze. 

“Ah, you can keep staring if you want~” Trace winked with his odd eye, “I like looking at your pretty face, too.”

With that, Ray forced himself to look at the floor, arms hugging his sides. This demon was… a lot different than Beata.

“He’s Hell’s greatest shapeshifter at the moment,” Luther explained, although Ray had already figured that much out, “And he’ll hang around until we need help with Harris.”

“Harris? Who’s this?” Trace hopped up off the ground, landing with a different look. His horns and wings were gone, and instead he held the look of a beautiful dark woman, her curly ebony hair falling over his shoulders, clear to her waist. Her white dress was covered in embroideries of flowers and leaves, and her lips were bright red with a lovely lipstick. “A lover?” her voice was as smooth as her skin, quiet and innocent as she floated over to Raymond, touching up his stomach and chest, and for a moment he was convinced. He didn’t quite get it, thought—never thought of ‘Harris’ as a girl’s name. “Needing revenge? Did she break your heart?” She spun around him, coming back around with a bloodstain as red as her lips just above her breast. Her eyes matched Trace’s, one hazel, the other as black as the night with the moon shining in the center. The sight startled Raymond, and he tried to step back, but she had a tight hold on his sleeve with her decrepit fingers.

“Harris is a man,” Luther corrected.

“Ah!” Trace’s voice replaced the woman’s as her face wrinkled and melted into nothing, and the walking corpse danced away. It changed to a monstrously obese man, the folds of skin looking like different people mashed into one. This impossibly huge human was bald and clean-cut, drool falling from his baby-face as if he himself were an infant. His meaty paws grabbed the air like grabbing a meal and his beady eyes looked like they belonged to a possum. “How close am I to the image?” his voice rolled and cracked, being forced out of this giant glob of a man.

“Not even,” Luther shook his head, “Quit screwing around, we’ll tell you what’s going on.”

“ _ Screwing around _ is too fun, though,” the shapeshifter pouted, “But fine.” He twisted back to his original state, this time appearing with a tail that Raymond hadn’t noticed on him beforehand. It was thick like it belonged to a monster, fur lining the end of it, and grey and black in coloration. His feet picked up off of the floor, and he floated there, sitting cross-legged on an invisible surface. “Tell me, tell me. Ooh! Let your buddy talk! I haven’t heard from him. I wanna know if his voice is as gorgeous as his looks~”

The blonde sighed, clearly disappointed. Raymond was terribly anxious, surprised at how open this demon was. Well… the explanation was in the thought: he was a demon, he didn’t have to worry about human concerns. The gambler registered what Trace had said, and opened his mouth to speak, but sputtered choked noises. “Uh… Buh…” he grabbed his neck and pushed on the knob in his throat, coughing, “I… I shouldn’t… You…”

Trace giggled, his hands on his chin and his elbows resting on an invisible surface. “Ah… Keep going~”

Ray… didn’t. This demon had a sort of tone… like he was… aroused? The gambler watched his tail sway back and forth like a pendulum, skimming the candles. His eyes lifted up to the demon’s, and they were gazing right back. 

The gambler moved his hand to the back of his neck, clearing his throat a second time. He did his best to ignore Trace and plowed through with the explanation. “...Mr. Harris has a group of friends he hangs around. They want me dead,” Ray continued on with the story, filling in the details. The shifter nodded through, but only appeared to be half-paying attention, his eyes preoccupied with the gambler. When Raymond was finished with the explanation, Luther added, “You’re here just for offense and defense. Neither of us want to get shot, so if we ever need to make a quick run for it, you’re the distraction.”

“Mhm, mhm,” the demon nodded, “I can do that. And, uhm, how `bout my cut? Whatever do I get out of this?”

“Well, not only are you allowed to roam Earth freely while we need you—”

“Bah!”

“—but if you’re  _ really _ that much of an ass-kisser, we’ll follow your leading once we arrive in Hell.”

Trace squinted, admiring his nails with folded fingers, “I’ve never been much of a leader type…” he said, mainly to himself, “How `bout… you two just  _ owe _ me in Hell. Yeah?”

“Whatever floats your boat.”

“Fan-f-cking-tastic,” the demon cheered, his toes meeting the earth, again. “I already have ideas!”

“You can’t act out anything until we need you,” Luther reminded him.

“Whatever the hell,” Trace waved him off, then shifted into an exact clone of the blonde. Raymond was taken aback, looking from his friend to the copy, and nearly losing his mind when the demon made his way over to the blonde. “Look, look. When that bitch comes along I can… Nonono,” he changed his mind, and standing before Raymond was a giant warthog, just as smelly and ugly as you think a warthog could be. It shifted, again, to the shape of  _ Beata _ , and Raymond nearly had a heart attack. “Nono,” the demon’s eyes met Ray’s, and he appeared as himself again, “I want  _ you _ ~” 

Ray was already shaking his head, “We already said we’d repay you in Hell.”

“Not that,” the demon rounded the gambler, circling his prey, “I need a  _ piece _ of you.”

“...I ain’t gettin` it.”

“Aw, what a half-assed job of teaching him you’ve done!” the shifter yelled over his shoulder at the blonde. “He don’t even know how this sh-t works!”

Raymond didn’t really like how he was talking to Luther. “I—”

“Shh!” Trace placed a slimy finger over the gambler’s lips, only for the gambler to realize that his finger had turned to a long, disgusting tentacle, wanting through the seal that was Ray’s mouth. The gambler’s first instinct was to protest, but no, no,  _ no _ , not with that thing against his mouth. 

“I’ll tell you, I’ll tell you. But first,” Trace took his tentacle-finger away, opening his arms like he wanted a hug, “I’ll need a kiss~”

Ray blinked, a bit baffled. “Uhm… How `bout… no?” he nervously declined. 

“Then we can’t have business,” the demon shrugged, “And I’ll just do whatever I want seeing as we don’t have an agreement—”

“Okay, okay!” Raymond stopped him. He knew better than to let the demon’s empty threats get to him, but it happened anyway. He re-evaluated the situation, bit his tongue, and looked Trace up and down. Maybe he meant on the hand or something! “On… what?”

“My ass,” the demon laughed, “The lips, f-cking psychopath! How’ve you been doing it?”

“I—No. No, I can’t do that,” Raymond declined, shaking his hands and his head, no longer caring about the threats. Luther was capable of handling this sort of stuff. “Sorry, I’m better off not knowing, I think.”

“Oh, what? You know, nobody cares who you f-cking like in Hell—”

“It’s not that—” Ray spat.

“Well, then!” Trace hopped over, grappling the gambler by the waist and pulling his hips against his own. Before Raymond could even react, his head was being held in place and a warm, tender kiss was planted upon his lips. Ray felt the demon’s teeth open to let his tongue get to the gambler’s, and upon that, was shoved back by the satanist. Raymond caught his breath, having dodged that attempt, but Trace wasn’t happy. “C`mon! Raymond, my pal!” he threw his hands up in the air, “You  _ gotta _ let me do this! Think of what I’m doing for you!”

The gambler couldn’t even speak, he was too disconcerted. He looked to Luther for help, but the blonde had his eyes on the other side of the room. He was facing away from them! Arms crossed, completely ignoring them.

Trace was very close very quickly. “Just let me,” he insisted, “It’ll be all over with in a second~”

Ray truly insisted otherwise, but couldn’t do much about it. He was already pushed against the wall with hot breath next to his face, and as soon as he gave the demon the slightest amount of opportunity, he was being kissed. Trace’s tongue ran against Raymond’s teeth in the most violating way, causing the gambler to squint his eyes shut and scrunch up his nose. He had hands on the demon’s midsection, not in a loving fashion, but in order to keep him  _ that _ much farther away. His head hit the wall as the shifter went at him rather aggressively like he was searching for something. Desperate, Ray assumed that the sooner he gave in to it, the sooner it would end. He allowed himself to meet tongues with Trace and let his body go slightly lax. But, that’s where the mistake was.

The feeling of biting his own tongue made Raymond’s head cock back, but when the pain didn’t end, he knew something was wrong. His eyes shot open, and he realized that Trace had his fangs piercing Ray’s tongue. The gambler tried to push the demon away but it only made him gnaw down harder. Daggers split through the muscle, and when the shapeshifter pulled away he took a piece of Raymond with him.

Ray moved away from the demon, expectorating blood and spit onto the floor. “What—! The f-ckin` hell?!” he looked up and over at Trace, “What the hell?!”

The demon was wiping his maw with the back of his hand, chewing at the same time. “I’ll tell you  _ what the hell! _ ” he exclaimed, swallowing the bit of tongue. “The bitch over there didn’t bother telling you how shapeshifters are allowed to do what they do? Well, I tell you, being a demon isn’t easy! You have to give in to certain types of sin, you know?” His wild eyes pierced through Raymond as the gambler did his best to heal his injuries. “A shifter’s big sin is gluttony. Eat, eat, eat. We gotta eat a lil` something of everything we turn into. That way,” his features slowly morphed, learning the pattern they adjusted to. His clothes, too. His horns, wings, and tail disappeared—everything that wasn’t supposed to be ceased to exist, and everything that needed to be there came into existence, until he was the spitting image of Raymond Earnest. “We can be that thing~”

The gambler blinked, his eyes unable to adjust at first, his brain unable to comprehend what he looked at. What stood before him was… him! No mirror, no tricks, just the body that had stolen his identity. 

Raymond watched himself smirk and fold his arms and say in his voice, “I’ll be around~” With a blink, his eyes turned to that hazel and night sky combo, and the shifter laughed as his body squished and twisted, smaller and smaller, until he was no more.

The room was quiet.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Raymond and Luther walked down the sidewalk, nearing Nana’s neighborhood. A sickening aura hovered about them, following them wherever they went. Was it the cold? The shapeshifter? Ray didn’t know or care. That entire trip killed his appetite and put him in a sour mood, replaying the moments in his mind. He stayed relatively quiet on the walk—he didn’t ask questions; when Luther tried to make conversation, he would respond with one-word responses; even when the blonde offered a lunch at that restaurant, Ray gave him nothing else but, “No thanks.”

The gambler could tell that his attitude was festering inside his friend’s mind, and he almost found it amusing. Well, until Luther had to make a noise about it. “Raymond, talk to me,” he offered a place to vent.

“Why should I?” God, he hated himself. He remembered acting like this before, and he hated himself for it. 

“You’re clearly upset. I wanna at least  _ try  _ to help,” Luther responded.

Ray shoved his hands in his coat pockets. “It’s nothin`.”

The gambler thought it was over when the blonde didn’t say anything else… at first. “Well, it isn’t. I’ve known you long enough to figure out when it is and isn’t ‘nothing’,” he hissed.

Ray just gave him what he wanted. “Fine. It  _ is _ somethin`. But tryna beat it out of me ain’t gonna work. So, just drop it.”

Luther was irked. He had no comebacks, nothing to be smug over. His pride was failing him this time, and he didn’t know how to handle it. He balled his fists up and cocked his head to the side, letting a burning breath exit his lungs. “You…” he shook his head.

Ray didn’t let him get another word out, “What’s your problem? Why do you gotta invade on me now? You weren’t very quick to invade and stop that bastard from doin` that sh-t!”

The blonde stopped walking, staring right through Raymond, clearly surprised by that reaction. The gambler had stopped, too, feeling his face heat up and the knob in his throat push against his skin. They were shooting daggers at each other—but Luther was clearly winning at it. Ray was intimidated by the cold and sharp gaze the blonde held, unblinking, unmoving. 

“ _ That’s _ what you’re pissy about?” Luther hissed, twisting his neck, “What did you expect?! It’s a fu—” he bit his lip and stopped himself, “I thought you knew by now that weird sh-t like that is gonna go down.”

“Not like  _ that! _ ” the gambler argued, trying to get as many spiteful words in as he could before the satanist cut him off, “You coulda at least  _ warned me _ `bout it!”

“Like I knew what he was gonna do!” Luther threw his hands through the air. “Why are you so ticked off about that? It’s over and done, anyway!”

“Why do it matter if it’s  _ done? _ It still happened!” Ray felt like he was losing more and more as they went along. 

Luther shook his head, “Is it the f-cking dog, still?”

The gambler wanted to punch him, “No! It’s not the  _ f-ckin` _ dog! Do you think I’m a f-ckin` idiot?!”

“You seem to think  _ I’m _ an idiot, blaming me for something I didn’t do! What the hell does it have to do with  _ me? _ Why are you angry at me? Why are you blaming me for that?!”

That’s not what the gambler wanted him to think. This entire situation was getting too heated. He could feel himself choking on sadness and grief that he didn’t understand why was there. “I ain’t blamin` you for anythin`!” Raymond just wanted out of this. 

“ _ The hell are we fighting for, then?! _ ”

That was the last thing that was yelled. The gambler was fighting tears by the end of it all, and he didn’t even know why he let his emotions escalate that high. He didn’t have an exact reason in his head as to why he should be crying. It sure as hell wasn’t the argument, was it? He’s been in worse than this! It wasn’t the homoerotic demon back at the base. It wasn’t the patron that he feared. It wasn’t getting chased in the middle of the night and being shot at. It wasn’t the rituals. It wasn’t the abilities or powers. It wasn’t the confusion. It wasn’t his persona. It wasn’t missing home. 

And it  _ definitely _ wasn’t because of Luther. 

It would never be because of Luther. Never for as long as Raymond lived, never in a million years, never for the rest of time, would it be because of Luther. 

He hated himself for it.

The gambler turned away before the blonde could see his watering eyes, even though he knew it was too late. He brought a sleeve to his lips and bit it as his eyes rained. And there he was, a little boy storming away, trapped in the body of a man.


	11. Crybaby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ecclesiastes 3:8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !Sensitive Imagery!

It was rare to ever get snow in this part of the country, even during the winter season. But it came. The flurries of glorious white fluttered from the heavens down to earth, blessing the world with a blanket so pure and bright it made your eyes hurt. No one saw the formation of it, for the snow had arrived overnight. It coated yards, rooftops, and roads a couple of inches thick, making it a perfect play day for children to play in heavy clothing. 

Raymond found Luther outside without a coat. The gambler wore one and brought an extra for his friend. “Hey,” he greeted quietly, walking through the back door.

The blonde was leaning against one of the posts that held up the overhanging roof. He turned his head to the gambler with a smile, welcoming him.

“Aren’t you cold?” Ray offered the coat, and Luther took it.

“I can ignore it,” a pause as he slipped his arms through the sleeves, “But, thanks.”

Raymond stood with his hands in his pockets, quiet for a bit. They were looking out at the backyard, the snow perfectly untouched and reflecting the cold rays of the sun. The gambler sighed without a noise, his breath decorating the air. “What’re you doin` out here?”

“Just hanging out,” he said in his peculiar way, “Thinking.”

“What `bout?”

Luther’s eyes glowed with the snow, and he hesitated before answering. “...Home.”

Raymond remembered that his friend was originally from up north. He guessed the heavy snow reminded him of his life before arriving here. “You miss home?”

Luther had this look in his eyes, full of defeat and regret, but his expression masked it well. “Not often. But, when I do, it hits hard.”

“...Do you have family back home?”

“Yeah. My mom and three little brothers. All grown up, now, I’d guess.”

Raymond was curious, “When’d you leave?”

Luther sighed through his nose, “I don’t remember. It’s been a while.”

“You miss them, at least?”

The blonde’s lips curled into a frown, nearly a scowl. “Not my mom,” he grumbled, “It’s a whole ordeal with her…”

Ray didn’t want to make him relive any bad memories. He strayed from the parent subject. “Your brothers?”

“All the time.” Luther flipped the conversation around, seemingly like he wanted to get out of it, “What about you? I know you got some people at home.”

The gambler was surprised he didn’t say anything more. At the beginning of their partnership Luther was basically telling Ray’s life back to him. He went along with it, anyway. “Not really. I already told you `bout my parents. And my sister’s all… ugh, she don’t wanna see me.”

“Any friends?”

“No.”

“Anyone you interested in?”

Raymond raised a brow, “No,” he sort of chuckled, “What’s with that one?”

“...Trying to figure out why all that happened yesterday.”

Oh. The gambler instantly knew what he meant. When they were screaming at each other over an issue that was never said. Ray felt his face heat up from the embarrassment of walking away crying. Another memory to forget, put it on the list. He was quiet, feeling more awkward than he would have liked.

When they arrived home, yesterday, Nana was asleep in front of the fireplace. Perfect for the gambler, he didn’t have to sit and explain himself, and he could go clean up without question or concern. He stayed in the restroom for a while, thinking of everything and nothing, and when he calmed down he walked out. Nana was awake and Luther was chatting it up with her, talking about politics and what-have-you, very friendly and casual with the gambler when he arrived. They spent the rest of the day like that, forgetting about the incident, simply going about life. But it was never “simple,” it always came back, like right now.

Luther continued, “I just asked to see if you were homesick, missing someone. Maybe that was the reason…” a pause, “I won’t talk about it if it’s gonna spiral into another train wreck,” Luther disclaimed.

“No, I get it, I get it…” Ray told him, “It won’t…”

The blonde had his arms crossed. “Can you just tell me what it was that got under your skin yesterday?”

The gambler bit his tongue and thought about the proper way to go about this. Biting his tongue… ugh, he stopped. It just reminded him of the demon. “I think it was Trace. He just… threw me off guard.”

Luther nodded. “...I guess you were mad at me for that.”

“Not  _ for _ that,” Ray stepped in, “I wasn’t really mad. I was just… flustered. And frustrated… I know I should expect things like that, but I wanted a warnin`, I guess. And…”

“And I didn’t step in and stop it? That’s the other thing, right?”

A shrug. “I s’pose.”

The blonde was giving him this look.

Ray shook his head, “No, I don’t  _ s’pose _ . Yeah, that’s exactly what irked me,” he changed his mind, and the blonde’s look disappeared. “You weren’t even lookin`. And I was… I felt… sized up. I felt like somethin` bad coulda happened and you wouldn’t have been watchin` to help.”

He expected some backlash. He expected a retort and a small argument. But Luther was nodding, understanding, and backing off. “Yeah… I get that…”

Then the gambler felt like he should give his friend some wiggle room. “I wasn’t really upset. If I was it woulda played off today, too,” he looked at his shoes, “It was just a… heat of the moment sort of thing… I guess.”

“No, you’re right,” Luther told him, “I get why things were like that. I just… I dunno,” he seemed relaxed, “I expected a lot from you without taking precautions. That was my fault.”

Ray nodded just to tell his friend he was listening.

“I’m sorry,” Luther admitted. 

They continued to stand out there, ignoring the cold that chewed their skin.

Of course, Raymond knew the real reason why he was upset. He could tell himself it wasn’t Luther all he wanted, but he knew better. It just… hurt knowing that the blonde wasn’t going to be protective of him when it came to things like that.

  
  


* * *

  
  


The snow was shoveled and melted away within two days. Raymond and Luther took the beautifully cold day to eat out, their stress gone, their partnership strengthened. They were friends again. Ray could appreciate that, with every misstep, they were able to get back on their feet. Not just because the fight would die down and they’d forget, but because they would talk about it later on… Regroup, touch base. It was definitely the newest way Raymond’s ever handled an argument, but the best by far. He still felt safest when around his friend, still felt like he could open up and be dumb. And he knew that Luther felt the same. With that, they were on their way to  _ Terry & Son’s Capital Diner _ —remember it?—a place they visited often enough.

They caught a carriage and talked up madness. They realized that most people knew their faces and would point them out from time to time, say hello, other things. Nothing said was ever nasty or defacing, the people were very polite. Of course, it wasn’t enough for the two to feel famous in the slightest, but it did make them feel more welcome, and that was enough. 

They arrived at the building and were seated and served two steaming full-plate meals, perfectly hot to contrast the freezing outside world. While the two ate, they made conversation. 

Raymond commented on how he still didn’t know what his new ability was. Luther suggested they should go somewhere private to try a few things out, figure out just what this power was. Even if they didn’t, the blonde said that it wouldn’t be a big deal and that it would come into play sooner than later.

Luther wanted to know if Raymond had any questions about anything. And yeah, there were a few. He started off, “If you want to be a shapeshifter, do you really gotta eat the thing you wanna be?”

They weren’t worried about people tuning in. The place was loud and everyone else was in their own little world. The answer, “Yeah. He told you it ties in with the sin gluttony. Most demons have a sin they follow. Shapeshifters follow—quite basically—‘you are what you eat.’”

Based on the reading Ray had done, he knew any demon could become a shapeshifter. Next, “Does everyone become a demon if they go to Hell?”

“Depends. Most times, yeah, and you’ll be amongst others. But, say the Devil hates you; he’ll send you to the lowest part of Hell where a million and more ‘damned souls’ stay. They’re weak and disfigured and they slave away, digging room for Hell, being scorched and starved and what-have-you.”

“You still gotta eat after you die?”

“It’s complicated. Demons are free to eat whenever they want, but you never have to unless you're weak. There are certain power levels in Hell, and if you don’t climb to a particular point of strength pretty soon, you’ll get buried. The first year is the hardest, but most demons get past that point and are pretty normal power-wise. Then they don’t have to eat.

“But, they still have to worry about getting buried. That’s a literal term, by the way. Demons fight all the time, and if you screw with someone more powerful than you, they have a very good chance of disabling you to the point where you can’t do anything. If you were human, you’d be dead, but in Hell, you’re immobile and still ‘alive,’ still able to feel. Most bodies get left on the ground, and the dust in Hell will bury them. Then, it gets too heavy and they get too deep, so even if they could fix themselves they wouldn’t be able to dig out.”

The gambler didn’t like the sound of that. It seemed like Hell was a constant war zone, having to fight every day to get by. 

“We’ll probably be fine, with what we’re doing and who our patron is. We’ll have enough power right off the bat and just go up from there.”

“What about summonin` rooms? Who builds them?” Ray asked.

“Anyone who’s willing. I didn’t build that room, it was… uhm…” he tried to find his words, “I would say that I found an empty bunker there, but I’d be lying. Sometimes, demons powerful enough will give their followers hotspots to go back to. It’s a safe haven—they can manipulate whatever is in there.

“But, for guys who  _ do _ build, they have to make them  _ very _ appealing so they can rope in a demon.”

Raymond seemed confused.

“Lemme backtrack,” Luther tried, “In order to summon a random demon, all you need to do is open a portal. But, that’s risky, because that means any animalistic creature from Hell can come through that opening and potentially possess the first thing they see: you. Then they can run around Earth and destroy everything, it’s a big deal.

“If you want to do it right, you’ll call a specific demon by their name. Then only that demon is allowed to be on Earth. At the same time, though, they may not want to come. That’s why if you call a demon in your room within a house that has other people living in it, the demon will deem your place too risky and won’t appear. The base that we have—secluded, underground, not connected to a larger facility—it’s entirely safe.”

Ray was nodding. He remembered Luther saying something along the lines of demons roaming Earth from time to time. “How can demons come to Earth without anyone noticing? You know, if they possess somethin` or if they’re just themselves. I don’t hear a lot `bout that stuff.”

“That’s implying that any demon can come to Earth willy-nilly, which isn’t true. Any demon can be summoned, but have to be summoned to appear on Earth ‘legally.’ Those select few are usually extremely powerful or favored by Satan. No demon can go to Earth without his permission, but stuff gets by and there’s not a lot he can do about it. So, some brutes roam earth. They’re hard to find, too, because the only ones who travel to Earth usually do it when they appear to be human—meaning, they shapeshift to look like us.”

“Why not just go lookin` like themselves?” Ray asked. 

“That’s basically suicide. The only reason a demon has to go to Earth is to cause trouble. If they don’t do it discreetly, Heavenly forces will strike them down instantly before they can do any damage to humans.”

That raised the last question, “What about demons all lookin` different? Well, I assume they all look different.”

The blonde nodded. “Sometimes, when a person dies, they have a sin attached to them. Of course, the sin would complement the acts they committed in life. They’re basically just traits to set demons apart right off the bat and to keep them from looking human. The Devil hates that…

“If you die by sloth, you’re typically smaller and skinnier. Depicts not taking care of yourself. Gluttony’s just the opposite, you’re bigger-boned and usually towering above everyone else. Envy, you’ve got odd skin color—Beata’s a good example of that—even though she wasn’t human beforehand, she used to be an angel—but it still sticks. Greed, you get extra limbs. Wrath, you get claws and excessive hair growth. Lust, goat legs. And pride gives you some pretty horns—big and brassy, makes you look nice.”

“Hell sounds like one twisted beauty competition,” Raymond joked.

“A  _ hell _ of a competition~”

Ray groaned and Luther laughed at him. 

“You think we’ll…?”

“Get features? Definitely,” Luther answered, “Either pride or greed, I’d say.”

It was almost funny to Raymond how casually he thought about his life after death. He felt like he only had the slightest idea what Hell truly was, but he knew that every moment of it would be spent with Luther. That would be okay. Just don’t get split up and things would be fine… Plus, it sounded like they’d have friends in high places…

They continued to eat, talk, make jokes, laugh. They had an entire day to themselves but had no plans—they attempted to map out a sorry excuse of a schedule but ended up forgetting about it and deciding to take life by the throat. They’d make up their fun as they went along. 

They finished their lunch and left the restaurant, spending the day as friends, making stupid statements to screw with one another, only to receive laughter and more stupid statements. They did a small bit of shopping—well, browsing more than anything. They didn’t buy much except for a few treats and sweets. They found chocolates they enjoyed and discovered a gum made from chicle rather than sap. That was new, they both gave it a try, and both enjoyed it. 

Oh, and Luther also bought suspenders for the hell of it. It was a big joke that he thought was hilarious, and Raymond laughed along, but looking back on it he couldn’t remember just why they found it so funny. But, damn, if Luther didn’t pull them off so well… 

After that, the blonde took a while out of the day to perform on the side of the street. There was a small band of children with beat up or makeshift instruments, playing lovely melodies without vocals. Luther asked if he could join in, and they allowed it. Then, the band was complete, and they drew a small crowd.

Raymond stood amongst the people, thriving in the moment as much as they were. The children were magnificent, sure, with drums and strings and a hoot. They could definitely make a career out of that when they were older. But Ray had his eyes on Luther. He sang popular tunes and followed along with the kids, pitching his voice perfecting, hitting every note flawlessly. Hell, it wasn’t the singing that caused Ray to have a permanent smile and wide-eyed gaze, it wasn’t the performance, it wasn’t his confidence… It was just  _ him _ . Just Luther… Raymond could tell that the blonde was opening up more, just based on these minuscule actions. He felt more involved with his friend’s life. He felt like he could conquer the world with him if he really wanted to… It was just Luther. 

The day continued into late-evening. They decided they’d stop at a bar on the other end of town, much more expensive and high-class than their usual all-nighter bar. They requested drinks and a small meal and sat at their table.

With the setting sun and the night’s progression, Raymond realized he was starting to feel sick. His stomach hurt the most, and at first, he thought it was just because of the food and sugar he’d had throughout the day. But… it felt… instinctual, almost. It was as if his heart was sinking to the pit of his gut, signaling a horrible taste at the back of his throat and a feeling that something was off. He didn’t want to think about it, though. Tonight was going so well! When he looked over at Luther and saw his handsome grin, his contagious laugh, he knew he had this wrapped up. He won the night. He just had to last a little longer. The pains were nothing more than cramps from the awful diversity of food he’d eaten that day. That was all.

He forced himself to eat, even though the smell of fresh meat was making him sick. It was a simple platter,  _ C’mon, Ray _ . He tried to ease the sickness with alcohol, but it didn’t help. Everything inside of him was cramping up and he found himself chugging through the night.

There was something wrong… Something, he could feel it, itching at the back of his mind, jumping on the tip of his tongue. He was so close to placing it, yet so far. Maybe… Was it the demon? Trace? He said… who said? That he’d be around?

“Ray?” Luther addressed, “You holding up alright?”

_ Damnit _ .

“You look a little rough.”

“I think it’s the food,” Raymond excused, “I’m okay, I’m okay.”

The blonde was sitting next to him at the table, already had finished the last scraps of his meal. He put a hand on the gambler’s back, gingerly grazing up and down. “You look sick. You need some air?”

Ray sighed, “No, no. I’m okay.” He looked up at his friend’s face and saw the concern in those blue eyes. The gambler smiled, “I’m fine. Don’t let me ruin the night.”

“Don’t let me ruin yours,” Luther said, but seemed content with letting Ray’s stomach-ache blow over. He stood, dusting himself off, “Let’s go outside, anyway. I’ll pay, then we’ll head out.”

Hm… Maybe not. That seemed like Luther’s subtle way of not letting it go. Raymond pretended not to notice and nodded, leaving his chair and hovering.

The blonde came back and Ray expected them to leave through the front door. However, a pale hand had clasped his and was pulling him further away from the doors. Raymond was confused but didn’t testify, maybe there was a backdoor. Yet, there wasn’t—just an empty door frame that led to some stairs going up. “Where we headed?” Ray asked innocently enough. 

“To the roof.”

They were making their way up. “We allowed up there?”

“Yup.”

The air got colder the higher they got. The stairs led to a boxed-off door, and a gust of freezing, winter-night air rushed over their bodies upon opening. The two satanists stepped out onto the flat rooftop, hardly two stories up, and closed the door behind them. There wasn’t another living soul up there with them, and the bustle of the bar below had been exiled from the tranquility of the rooftop. The crisp, frosty air put Raymond at ease in a strange way, and the golden-orange lights that glittered the city streets were very easy on the eyes. 

Luther stepped away from the door, but not clear to the edge. Raymond trailed him, hoping his sickness would disappear before it turned into paranoia again. The blonde wasn’t looking at him. He wasn’t even looking at the beauty of miserable Las Vegas, either. He was gazing up at the dull, starless sky, the lights from below competing and winning against the glow of the nighttime diamonds.

“Not much to see,” Ray said, trying to make conversation.

“No, not really,” Luther agreed with a touch of dismality in his voice. He turned to face his friend, a humble grin on his face. “That’s fine, though,” he tickled Ray’s chin, “You’re prettier anyway~” he teased.

Ray chuckled and pushed his hand away, “You’re too flatterin`.”

The gambler found himself to be very close to his friend, able to feel the heat radiating off of him. Luther searched for and found Ray’s hands, guiding them to the new suspenders that lined up the blonde’s torso. Fingers were directed up to his chest, commanded to take hold of the straps. Raymond allowed himself to be led like this and felt the silky material between his digits. He could feel something coming on… Luther wanted something… Is that what he was sick about?

“Really,” Luther said quietly, pushing his hands into the gambler’s coat, tracing his own fingers up either side of Ray’s body. It sent the sweetest chills up the gambler’s spine, but it came back in an aftermath of horrible anxiety and nausea. He refused to let this moment go, though. Surely they were close! “You’re the flattering one, Ray…”

Raymond wanted to talk but his throat was closed up and his head was burning. Just last a little longer, just a little longer!

The entire time, Luther never made eye contact. “I’ve been thinking and… I want to progress,” his ocean-blue eyes slowly trailed up, “And not just in our whole pagan business…”

Sh-t… When Luther’s eyes met dark, emotional ones, his mood changed entirely. Ray could taste the blonde’s breath,  _ that’s _ how close he was, and yet it was all ripped away when the satanist realized just how sick Raymond might have been. “Are you sure you’re alright?” he asked, his grip on the gambler’s sides beckoning firmer. The moment was gone, and that was the ticket out of it.

Ray felt awful physically and mentally. His stomach was flipping in so many directions and, even with the cold night surrounding him, there was a hot sweat on his brow. It didn’t seem to be from the moment they nearly had, Raymond truly felt sick. There was something so wrong, some instinct attached to his sixth sense that told him something wasn’t right. He hung his head and let go of the straps, gripping Luther’s shoulders. He’d already ruined the moment, no point in trying to mask it. “I dunno… I’m feelin` queer…”

The blonde’s cold hand traveled up to the back of Ray’s neck as he stepped off to the side. “Alright… That’s fine. C’mon, let’s get you home,” he was leading off to the door.

“Sorry,” Ray tossed it in there.

“No, it’s fine. Buncha badly-planned meals today.” Luther seemed to truly understand and was unhurt by the situation. If only the same thing applied to Raymond.

They went back down the stairs, the gambler trying to do his best to not look as sick as a dog. As a dog… that only reminded him of the gore in the base… and that only made him sicker… God damnit.

They left out the front doors and Ray realized they would have to walk all the way back. Nighttime had fallen upon the city a while ago, which meant all the shops were closed up, which meant there would be a very small chance of any carriages traveling to pick up passengers. He’d just have to take it one step at a time.

The night drew on for a very long time—it felt like years. And the closer they got to home, the worse the sickness got. Something was wrong.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Nana’s place was in sight. Upon entering the neighborhood, Raymond felt significantly better. It must have just been a bad episode, and he regretted not sticking through it for a little longer. There was nothing wrong—it was just bad timing.

“Sorry for makin` us leave early,” Ray said, “I wish my stomach could handle that better.”

“We all have our limits,” Luther shrugged it off, “Don’t worry about it. You let me have an awesome day, nonetheless,” he nudged his friend, and his friend nudged back.

Closing in on Nana’s home, they saw a dim light through the kitchen window. “Nana’s still up,” Ray commented.

“And in the kitchen!” Luther laughed, “Maybe she’s cleaning up.”

“She should know by now that we’ll do that,” the gambler sighed, “I don’t want her doin` extra work while keepin` us.”

“Eh, she’s hardy. She’ll be okay. But, I agree.”

They walked up the steps and Luther felt around in his pockets for the key. “Ha, how do you think she’ll like my suspenders?”

“I like them~” Ray offered. 

“Well, that’s not what I asked,” Luther teased, putting his hand on the knob. However, to both of their surprises, the door opened without a turn or hardly a push. “Oh… Did the door not… close…?” the blonde talked to himself, then squinted his eyes as he inspected it. His whole demeanor became tense instantaneously; he swore and Ray could see why. There were marks around the handle like somebody had forced their way in.

Luther shoved the key away and gave Ray a split-second look before they both hurried in, wild eyes scanning the area and pathway set for the kitchen. “Nana!” Luther called, ignoring the possible threat. There wasn’t an answer right away, and of course that made both of them worry. “ _ Nana! _ ” Off to the kitchen they both went.

Oh Christ… The sickening feeling was taking over Ray again. It bubbled in his gut and rose to the back of the throat, creating an awful taste for his tongue to enjoy. He knew for sure that something was wrong and that this was it. Somebody had broken into the house and…

...God, this is what was wrong. Moving through the living room, Raymond noticed things knocked over and shuffled around. He felt like he was sinking, becoming heavier and heavier as life moved in slow-motion.

Luther was the first in the kitchen, a soft glow from the gaslight illuminating the room. He froze upon discovering the scene, and Raymond was close enough behind to see why within a moment’s notice. 

Everything was silent. The oven was on and opened up, burning away. A body lay there, head in the boxed-up heat, the rest of the cadaver limp on the floor. It was Nana’s body. 

A breath escaped Raymond whilst looking upon her corpse. The light from the oven reflected in her crooked, broken glasses and also in her glassy eyes, giving them faux life. One was fixated on nothing, rightfully in her socket, and the other had been popped out and blackened. 

“Sh-t!” Luther hissed, hopping over and flipping the oven off. He quickly worked, grabbing both of the old woman’s ankles and dragging her out, hands shaking as he did so. The scene was so much worse, now. Thick blood dripped from her half-blackened face, peels of flesh being scraped off on the metal racks as she was pulled from her fiery prison. Her mouth agape with a broken jaw, pooled blood spilling from her lips as she was jostled. The bars of black and burned flesh tattooed the side of her face, some of her teeth easily able to be seen for the fire had eaten right through her delicate skin and muscle. 

Raymond couldn’t handle it. He saw the scene and felt his heart drop to his stomach, then felt his stomach rise to his throat. He stepped away and keeled over next to the wall, puking up all the fun he’d had that day, its hot, chunky contents choking him. It hit the floor in a disgusting splatter, and he coughed up the rest before throwing up again. It came out his nose, pushing against his eyes, and he felt as if he was truly hurling his heart. 

He didn’t want to look back but couldn’t help himself. He saw Luther grabbing his curly hair, his silver eyes staring down at the body before him in a panic. 

Then, a gunshot. The bullet originated from outside, breaking through the kitchen window and landing inches in front of Raymond’s face. The wall he stood next to split apart to allow a hole to be formed, and the grief and horror turned to panic and terror. The satanists had both ducked upon the earth-shaking sound, their eyes meeting for only a moment. 

“They’re outside…” Luther whispered, “Stay down.”

Raymond nodded, feeling like he could have cried. 

Luther got on his hands and knees and Raymond followed suit. They crawled out of the kitchen like fools, unable to do much else except run. Once in the living room and away from the sight of the kitchen window, Luther hopped up into a crouch, Ray doing the same. There was an obvious moment of deciding which way to go—out the front door or out the back door, but the decision wasn’t made. In the frame of the front door appeared a figure shrouded in shadows. He was making his way through, but Luther raced to the door and slammed it on him.

Raymond stood, not knowing what to do. The blonde was in a test of strength with the person on the other side of the door, and it shouted, “F-ckers! Let us in!” Ray’s heart sank knowing that was Harris.

The gambler knew nothing else at that moment but  _ keep the door closed _ . He hurried over to Luther, hoping to be of great assistance, but he was a moment too late. A man much brawnier than Harris had charged the door like a bull and flung it open, sending Luther to the ground. Raymond saw the lumberjack and the gun he held, aimed right for the blonde, and the gambler yelled as he ran for the husky man. He attacked and tackled the lumberjack, knocking him to the ground right as a shot rang through the air. He tried to twist his head to see if Luther was unharmed, but was unable to as the lumberjack thrashed around. Raymond tried to stay on top and knocked a punch or two into the man’s face, but was soon overpowered by pure brawn that his opponent possessed. A punch with the gun landed on Ray’s cheek, metal colliding with flesh like makeshift brass knuckles. The gambler tried to shield his face, but the punches just kept coming. One after the other after the other after the other…

He was seeing black and white spots. Every landed punch knocked the air and sense out of him and flashed like lightning. He was sure that Luther had been shot and that he was going to get beat to death. But, after a few more blows, the weight of the lumberjack had been removed and Ray witnessed the mass of black, writhing clouds. Luther was up and ready for action, not caring about concealing his powers. He was pulling the gambler to his feet within a moment’s notice, and after a quick glance, Ray realized that Luther had just knocked over all four of Harris & Co. 

“C`mon! C`mon!” the blonde screamed, and Ray did his best to collect himself enough to stay on his feet and run. 

Luther had his arm and was pulling him through the house, out the backdoor, and into the grass. They rounded the building and it was right about then that Raymond realized he couldn't open his right eye completely and that his lip was throbbing like hell. He ignored it the best he could and kept running. 

They made it to the front of the house and turned left to get out of the neighborhood, right as the towhead and raven-looking man spilled from the house’s insides. They didn’t wield guns, rather, they had knives, and came racing after the satanists  _ very _ quickly. Raymond looked over his shoulder multiple times to witness their faces—more importantly, their blades—getting closer and closer. He felt an itch, he felt like he could do something, and thought about making them stop. He swiped his hand through the air unconsciously and from the ground sprouted a giant, coal-black hand. Its claws raked into the calf of the raven and toppled him, causing half of the problem to be fixed. With another swipe through the air, about a dozen smaller hands surrounded the towhead in an instant and latched onto his shoes. He tripped and fell over, chin hitting the pavement harshly, and Raymond returned his focus to running. Well, sh-t! That must have been his newest power!

They sprinted, emotions clouded by fear, straight out of the subdivision. 

Night hid them well and their feet carried them far. “We need to head to the base! We’re gonna grab whatever we can!” Luther told him, breath hitched.

“Right!” Ray responded.

That was their plan. They would go to the wall and hop over, being that it was closer than the park entrance, and make a very quick trip. They never stopped running, never once, sweating and panting the further they went. The winter air hurt their lungs with every breath but they worked through it. 

They made it to the alleyway between the two shops, Luther grabbing the rope as Raymond hopped up the wall quicker than he ever had before. The blonde followed very swiftly behind him, sloppily tying the rope around the chimney, and jumping down. 

Both of them landed on the ground and scrambled to find the hatch. Upon doing so they shared the effort of ripping it open, right as they were hearing voices on the other side of the wall. Luther was the first one down; Ray closed the hatch and hurried after him. 

They made their descent and the candles came to life. The gambler wanted to rest. His chest was burning from the inside and he needed to catch his breath, but there was simply no time for that. Luther was already over at a cupboard, pulling two leather bags from its contents. He threw one to Raymond, instructing, “Grab whatever books are lying around and any that have gold lining.”

Ray caught the bag and raced around the room, picking up books without looking at the covers, and scanning bookcases for any spines with gold lining. He didn’t know how many he’d found, but it was enough to make the bag quite heavy. 

Luther was pulling knives from one of the chests and books of his own. Even then, what they collected was nowhere near the completion of the scale of the collection. They only had so much room in their bags and so much time. They heard the hatch open and familiar voices from above. There was nowhere to go!

The blonde snatched the back of Ray’s coat and yanked him over to one of the bookcases. He pulled it open like a door and the gambler made his way within the room without being told. They both pulled the case closed just as the intruders were invading; Luther turned the lights out in the main room, and there were no lights in the current room they were in. Darkness consumed them.

Raymond knew where they were. This was the room with the basin. He could hear the water in the small pool and feel the coolness coming off of it. He remembered being cleaned up in here…

Memories were consumed by the moment. His eyes registered no visual signs but his ears were picking up all sorts of noises. He stifled his heavy breathing in order to listen in on the happenings just outside the basin room. He heard footsteps, aimlessly and cautiously wandering, sticking close to walls. 

He felt Luther’s soft hand grasp his arm, and based on touch alone he knew he was right behind the blonde, his chest against his friend’s back. They listened to Harris and his boys, noting their every move, able to tell exactly where they were.

The door to the summoning room had opened. They heard the click. Luther took this as an opportunity to escape. He leaned on the bookcase and it slid open with a noise.

Nobody was moving. They all heard the noise and tried to find where it was in the darkness. 

Raymond’s eyes had adjusted to the only light in the room: a beam of moonlight that shone down from the opening in the ladder system. That was their target. That’s where they needed to be.

Luther’s hand had slithered down to Ray’s, gripping tightly. The gambler thought for sure everyone in the room could hear his pounding heartbeat and felt extremely unsafe standing there but trusted Luther enough not to move.

One of the blonde’s fingers tapped the back of Ray’s hand. Once… Twice… Three times…

The room lit up in a fiery inferno, the dozens upon dozens of candles housing bonfires rather than small flames. The red lighting blinded everyone in the room and the heat cooked their skin. An ear-ripping screech tore through the air, causing everyone—including Raymond—to react by bringing in their hands up to the sides of their heads. The gambler was stopped, though, when Luther pulled him and ran for the ladder.

The moment fazed Harris and his boys for a few long seconds, but the satanists knew it wouldn’t be long enough for them to make it to the ladder. A few steps before escape, the lights went out and the shriek silenced. Luther let go of the gambler’s hand to jump up the ladder, Raymond following immediately behind. A gunshot echoed through the base alongside shouting voices and the bullet rattled the rung beneath Ray’s foot. He traveled up the ladder as quickly as he could, sputtering and heaving. 

Luther was at the top, pulling him out; just before leaving the ladder the gambler saw the furious face of Harris at the bottom. He scrambled to his feet and followed Luther to the tree line. He could hardly see, his lungs felt like they would cave in on themselves, and his balance was lapsing. They entered the tree line and immediately Raymond tripped, falling flat onto his face behind bushes and shrubbery. Luther purposely threw his body onto the ground next to him, strapping his arms over the gambler to ensure he didn’t sit up. Hiding in the overgrown grass for a moment or two was their best bet of surviving right then, even if it was a shoddy one. 

The blonde’s sharp, silver eyes were glaring through the tall grass, his fingers twitching and his hands working literal magic. Raymond watched as Harris and the lumberjack exited the underground base, scanning the area for the satanists. However, just as the raven-looking man was poking his head out, a mass of blackness festered and swarmed above the ground where the underground base would have been located directly underneath. It pushed into the soil and crushed the earth, the raven just barely making it out before the ladder system was folded in half and all that was left of the base was a crater in the ground. The towhead wasn’t seen.

The rest of Harris & Co. were looking around for Luther and Raymond. The gambler knew for sure that they were about to be found when Harris’ bright eyes were directed their way and he started marching over with his gun. 

Then, a miracle. Raymond heard someone swear in surprise and denial, and it grabbed everyone’s attention. The gambler saw himself dangling from a rope whilst trying to scale the wall, struggling immensely with it. He couldn’t register what was happening at first, but the realization clicked in his mind. That must have been Trace! 

Ray’s clone was slipping down the rope, the demon obviously wanting to act like this to bait the group of men into focusing their attention on him. And it was working all-too perfectly. Luther and the  _ real _ Raymond quietly made it to their feet as the lumberjack jumped up and grabbed ahold of the shapeshifter’s foot. He watched himself be pulled down and thrown to the ground, only to be laughed at, kicked, and shot.

But by that time, the satanists were gone. 

They stealthily wove through the trees and, once they couldn’t hear the victorious whoops of Harris & Co., broke into a full sprint for the gate. They wanted to get as far away from those murderers as possible, sticking side by side as they shoved the gates open and made their way through the city. 

Raymond wasn’t asking questions. In fact, he was trying to answer them while they ran. Why were Harris and his boys there? Why would they kill Nana? Why try to kill them? Especially so obviously? All he could think about was how ironic the perfect day was in comparison to this awful night. Nana’s corpse, the missed shots, the blows to the face, the collapse of the base, witnessing his own death… Is that how it would have gone had they attempted to scale the wall rather than run into the park? Was Trace okay? Hell, of course he was! He was a demon, already dead! Was  _ he _ okay, then?  _ Raymond _ , was he okay? He just saw so many horrible events… F-ck, f-ck,  _ f-ck _ . 

The gambler was crying. While they ran, he started to weep. It hurt, but he needed to do it. Once they made it outside city limits they slowed down, and Luther led him to a nice little gathering of trees. They would shield the two of them from the wind and from the sight of any peering eyes. He sat Raymond down and begged him not to cry, then brought the gambler into his arms when Mr. Earnest only sobbed harder. They embraced each other, needing each other, loving each other without realizing it.

Luther did not cry. He looked like he wanted to, but was physically unable to. His pretty face was twisted into such a horrible emotion, such a pitiful sadness. Through their grief he healed the damage done to himself and to the gambler, and they sat there for a long moment or two.

They had to move on. They knew they had to. That night would be spent walking far, far away from miserable Las Vegas. 

Luther said he had a friend in a nearby city. St. George, Utah. That’s where they were headed.


	12. Sleepy Days, Restless Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matthew 5:4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi  
> So uhm  
> Upon writing this  
> I sorta caught wind how Las Vegas wasn’t an official city until 1905  
> And Utah wasn’t officially a state until 1896
> 
> And Copper & Bones takes place in 1885…
> 
> But I think it’s okay. “Officializing” and “founding” locations doesn’t mean that they weren’t already places to begin with. Vegas was discovered in 1829, which means people would have been settling and buying and trading there for a while (I think), and Utah was discovered in 1850. I,, I guess I should have done more research beforehand, even though I think I’m okay? Maybe? 
> 
> I don’t know. I guess we can all be a little lenient on any details I’ve screwed up and/or will continue to screw up. 
> 
> But hey at least St. George was founded before 1885.
> 
> [How do they settle a city before they settle a state—]

It took nearly three days of travel to get to Utah. The morning after the… events… they were able to hitch a buggy. They told the driver to take them as close to St. George as he could, and then they both slept. They needed it so desperately. 

Once night fell upon the land, the buggy came to a halt at a small town and they were let off. They regrouped, bought a small amount of food for the road—though, neither of them had much of an appetite—and took off on foot again. They walked with hanging heads and damaged prides, and once on the road, alone, they were finally able to talk about what had happened. 

It was more than tragic. It was straight murder, both of them knew that. There was no reason to kill an innocent old lady just to get to them. There was no reason… 

Raymond ended up having silent and calm breakdowns multiple times. He would start talking and then cry in the middle of it, haunting his speech, leaving him to bite his lip until it was tender. Luther was kind to him and gave him all the time in the world.

Luther never cried but was entirely distraught. He seemed extremely nervous and more than shaken up, but after a while, he calmed down noticeably. He was helping Raymond with the situation more than he was helping himself, though the gambler didn’t realize it. 

There wasn’t much use going over what they already knew. They didn’t ignore it, no, they knew it would be better to get it all out now than to wait for when they were in the next city and seem crazy. They recapped what had happened, regretted their actions, and mourned over every loss. However, they also discussed their future.

They knew they were going to make it to St. George, and they knew that they’d be safe there for a while, at least. Harris and his boys believed that they’d killed Mr. Earnest—thanks to Trace—and had no way of knowing where the two satanists went, being that their decision to flee to Utah was made on a whim. Hopefully, the company would stay in Vegas and search for Luther, only to get stuck. That would leave the satanist’s all the time in the world. 

The blonde explained to Raymond who his friend was. Her name was Mabel Ackerman, a satanist that he’d met once before he left for Greece. They were on good terms, and—if she was still where Luther last left her—he knew she would be able to help. Mabel wasn’t in St. George but had made up a base nearby. He’d write and send a letter to her last known location and they would hope for an answer back. Until then, though, they promised to do their best to relax and put all of this in the past. 

After a lot of walking and a lot of ride-hitching, they made it to the city of St. George, Utah. Immediately, Ray noticed the difference. The city was much bigger than what Vegas offered—he was sure to get lost in this place; there was a bustle of people out and about, even in this cold weather; the city itself seemed to be more colorful in general. The sky was blue and dotted with blinding white clouds, the brick streets were scarlet red, the clothes and accessories found in storefronts made up the rainbow—everything was eye-catching. Why couldn’t he have come here when he left home? Why did he have to go to that pitiful excuse of a city that wasn’t even founded yet? Being honest with himself, he hoped that Vegas would lose all its citizens before anyone bought more ground. He knew it wouldn’t happen, but he dreamed of it anyway. 

Right away the question was brought up, “What are we going to do about our patron?” The base had been rightfully destroyed (at first, Ray thought that was a bit of an overreaction for Luther to cave the entire base in on itself, but realized it would have worked to their benefit if as little evidence of their existence was left behind), there was nowhere here for them to make up another, no way to contact her or any other demons for help, and there were no demons following them because Trace had fulfilled his side of the flimsy agreement. Luther tried to convince him that things would be… alright. Money was his main concern—they had plenty at the moment, and it would be enough to last them until Mabel answered them back. But, if she never did, he wasn’t sure what they were going to do. “Get a job,” he guessed. He felt confident enough not to contact Beata for help, so he wasn’t worried about it. The blonde suggested that they just lay low for a bit. No demonic activities, no worries about them, no mention of them. They wanted to leave this town with the best reputation they could achieve: no reputation. For them, being overlooked was their best bet at surviving.

It was late afternoon. The first thing they did was find somewhere to stay. They didn’t know anyone, nor did they want to, so renting a room would be awkward. They could sleep outside on the benches, but two nicely-dressed men sleeping like they were homeless would definitely raise questions, or at least conversation. They could spend their lives at a 24-hour bar… No thank you. An apartment might work, but they were reminded of how much money they had and realized that would be far too expensive. A hotel. That was their best option. 

They roamed town and asked about, eventually finding their way to a complex that was wider than it was tall. They made their way through the two-story-tall brick building and all the complications of renting a room. The two were placed on the top floor and given a place. Bare necessities were present: a functioning bathroom with a toilet, sink, and bath, one small bed with only sheets despite winter creeping up, a tiny table next to it, and a closet with only shelves. The room was insipid and uninspiring. Even looking out the window to see the beautiful city didn’t quite motivate them enough. The glass was dusty and old, and the room itself didn’t look like it was cared about too much. Nowhere near filthy or shoddy, but also not the sort of room you’d want to call ‘home.’

Luther dropped his bag and threw himself onto the bed in a defeated manner, on his back and staring at the ceiling, legs dangling off the side of the furnishing. Raymond set his bag at the foot of the bed and sat next to his friend, upright with his elbows on his knees. His emotional eyes stared where the floor met the wall and his mind faded for a moment.

With a sigh, the blonde sat up, scooting next to his friend. He pushed his curly hair behind his ears—in need of a haircut—and began tapping his fingers against his leg. He broke the silence with a quiet, crushed, “I’m sorry.”

Ray gave him a side-eye.

“I didn’t expect any of that to happen. I wouldn’t have ever dragged you into this mess if I knew that would happen.”

Raymond wanted to be angry. He wanted to blame somebody for the disaster he'd gone through. He wanted to voice his frustration and get revenge on those who wronged him. But  _ those _ were nowhere close to him.  _ Those _ were not in the room with him.  _ Those _ weren’t talking to him, right then. 

“I’m sorry, Raymond.”

The gambler heard his words and knew he couldn’t feel anything other than sorrow and pity. There was no use in being upset with Luther, he was hurting the exact same. This frustration, this depression… Hell, as far as Raymond knew, Luther was the only escape from it. 

Ray took too long to respond. The blonde was talking again. “I… was thinking about it… on the way here. I get it if you don’t want to do this anymore. I get it if you don’t wanna be part of the mess. I can help you make a new life.”

The gambler was picking up the hints.

“We can give you a new name, a new identity. I can make sure those guys will never ever find you. And I’ll deal with the mess, you won’t have to worry about it.”

“No,” Raymond stopped him, “No, don’t. Don’t you dare leave me.” He looked right at the blonde. “Don’t you dare…” his voice cracked and his fingers began to tremble. Luther wanted to leave him, he was sure of it. He wanted to run and finish this himself, without Raymond, and the gambler would have to live with the nightmares. All of it, for nothing, because it went too far. 

Just before his mind crossed to the point of no return, a comforting grasp trapped his hand. Pale fingers tickled his skin with the most pleasant sensation, sending chills up Ray’s spine and making the hairs on his arms stand on end. It was a loving feeling, not something to be disregarded or ignored. 

Luther’s head found itself against Raymond’s, the pale face nuzzled into the gambler’s neck. Ray could feel the warmth with each exhale and each curl of hair against his face. He could feel the arms wrapping around him and the pressure being applied to his body. He could feel… it.

No, this wasn’t an  _ it _ . This wasn’t an exhale, or a curl of hair, or arms, or pressure. This wasn’t a man giving him the automatic human response of sympathy. This wasn’t an  _ it _ . 

This was Luther Stagmire. A friend that was holding Raymond in the silence of a room, offering his comfort and security. A person that had taken more out of Ray than the gambler would have liked to admit. A living soul that Ray felt like he knew enough to carve a true bond out of. A friend that was holding Raymond. He wasn’t letting go. He wasn’t leaving. 

The gambler knew he was crying again. His eyes wept a waterfall, able to flood the world if he let them. He didn’t care who saw him or who knew about his faults. He hugged Luther, crying over his shoulder, remembering. Not remembering Nana, really. Not Harris or his boys. Not even his family. He was remembering the familiarity of these feelings, birthed from a certain situation he’d been in before. He was scared of the outcome—terrified of it. He never wanted it to find itself back to him. He never wanted to feel that way again. He never wanted to be the reason for abandonment, again.

The gambler held onto the blonde as tight as he could, fearing the smallest lapse would cause his friend to disappear. 

Eventually, Raymond’s sobs quieted, and eventually, his eyes dried. It didn’t break them apart from each other, though. It only gave Luther the opportunity to promise, “I’m never going to leave you, Ray.”

That day’s anxiety found itself a new home—somewhere away from the gambler’s mind.

  
  


* * *

  
  


By evening Luther had written a sloppy letter and mailed it out. Raymond read the note but only remembered parts of it—it basically asked Mabel, the friend, if she was still at her establishment. If she was, she should send back a letter or meet them in St. George as soon as possible; an address to the hotel was left and Luther’s name was signed.

They were too tired to do much else other than eat. They stopped by a local bar, just about to close, and snacked for as long as they were allowed to. They went back to the hotel shortly after, got settled into their abode, and agreed to waste the rest of the night sleeping.

The two of them kept their winter coats on, the frosty temperature of the night too strong for the measly sheets they covered themselves with. The single bed was big enough to fit one person comfortably. They’d be rubbing elbows in their sleep, and turning over would inevitably have one of them on top of the other. Neither complained, though—hell, Raymond was thankful to finally be in a bed. 

They cozied up the best they could while trying not to make contact. It didn’t much matter though, they were both so tired, and neither of them cared. 

Raymond rubbed his eyes, sighing into the open air. He was too rattled up with thoughts. He spoke his mind. “They’re still gonna be lookin` for you.”

“I know,” Luther responded.

“Do you think that his boys still think you’re in the city?”

“It’s been a few days… Probably not.”

“What if they come here?”

“...”

“What if they find us?” the gambler turned his head to look at his friend in the darkness. The blue shadows consumed the room and made no exception of the blonde. Yet, Ray could still see that look in Luther’s eyes. The satanist was searching for words, his blue eyes scanning for answers as if they were carved in the ceiling. He drew a breath, about to speak, but said nothing.

“What if they find us?” 

The blonde shut his eyes. “I don’t know.”

Raymond was silent.

“I don’t know,” Luther repeated, “If they find us… Sh-t. There’s a lot of factors playing into this. They might give up because they think they got what they wanted—they killed ‘you.’”

The gambler knew better than that. He knew that Harris and his boys had seen everything they needed to. They witnessed the powers given by Beata—the wicked, writhing energy and the clawed hands ripping their skin. They’d witnessed the darkness of the underground base, the sinister feeling that had sunk from the back of their throats down to their bowels, the silent whispers calling to them to do minuscule things, the feeling of the weightless shackles on their ankles. One of their boys had died, crushed under the rubble of the base. They wouldn’t be getting information from there… oh, who knows? Maybe they were using all the men in the city to lift rocks and debris to uncover the secrets of the place. Even if not, they could find the books in Nana’s house. Translate them, maybe? 

God, Nana… Ray could only imagine what ploy Harris & Co. had weaved to cover their lies. Lots of things including names, he’d imagine. They’d make it look like the satanists killed her. He wouldn’t be surprised if the townsfolk believed it. Maybe it’d be in the newspaper!  _ Negro Cooks Old Baker _ , that’d be a good header. Or maybe  _ Satanists Scorch Local _ …  _ Food For Thought _ …  _ Cannibal Cretins _ … 

He could hardly believe he had actually helped weave this web. It wasn’t his fault… It couldn’t be. He was a good person…! He was! And so was Luther! All they were doing was… it wasn’t… hurting anyone! It…

God, if he had just gotten shot that first day he played against Harris and his boys, none of this would have happened. He wouldn’t have had to watch the destruction unfold in front of his eyes, watch others hurt, watch himself break down. If he would have just never been born…

He was doubting himself tremendously. How could he be the product—the offspring—of love? He didn’t feel anything close to what was promised to him. He didn’t feel joy in this moment. He didn’t feel proud or even slightly happy. He felt disappointed. He felt depressed. He felt… like he wanted to escape. 

But he couldn’t.  _ There was no point in bitching about it _ , he told himself. Just push through. Accept the consequences.

Before he realized it, Luther was asleep. His tired eyes had shut permanently for the night, and there was no one to talk to. 

He figured he should do the same. Sleep. If not for rest, just to escape the real-life nightmare that had been laid out before him.

  
  


* * *

  
  


The dream was long, and it started with his mother’s face. This time, for the last time, Raymond knew he was dreaming. He knew there would be no surprises. He knew he wouldn’t be able to control it. He knew what direction it would take. He knew what he would see. He knew what he would hear. He knew how he would feel. 

The young man was looking into the aftermath of the flood of tears. Broken pieces of wood and glass littered the soggy ground, the mud squishing between his toes. His mother was laying there on her back, her white hair beautifully messy, her face was lined with wrinkles and showed a beauty that Raymond longed for. Her neck was swollen in certain spots, as if she had been stung by bees, or if something round had buried itself beneath her skin. Light blotches of blood had stained her white gown around her chest, causing Raymond to cringe. 

Her half-open eyes brought a wave of nostalgia, comfort, and regret all at once. They looked up to the infinite abyss, black and cold. Her pale lips hardly moved, and her voice was hardly discernible… but Raymond could hear her. She was asking for him. She wanted him to draw near. She wanted to see him. To hold his hand. To admire her son.

Raymond wanted to do what she asked for so badly. The twisting feeling in his chest mimicked the sensation of a hand reaching in and clutching his heart, pulling and squeezing the muscle. His throat locked up and his vision was dry. The guilt piled and piled, and it kept getting heavier.

He couldn’t take it anymore. The young man knew he should see his mother. His muscles tensed to step forward.

But she was already gone. 

Her last wish was to see her son. And she didn’t get it.

Raymond felt the eyes, peering at him, staring at him, focused and unforgiving. He knew that ahead of him was a crowd of faces—faced he recognized, faces he didn’t, faces he hated, faces he loved. Among them were strangers. Among them were friends and family. Among them was his sister’s, angriest of all.

Instead of approaching them, Raymond turned around. He kept his head down, stepping on splinters and glass, splitting his feet open. He still walked, despite the pain. He walked until he could no longer feel the eyes.

  
  


* * *

  
  


The gambler woke to movement in the bed. He was on his back with his head to the side, facing away from his friend. The direction of the movement came from said friend. Ray’s heavy eyelids fluttered open, following the darkness wherever his head casually swiveled. 

They eventually landed on the figure that was sitting up in bed, legs over the side, his back to Ray. Immediately, the gambler assumed Luther had woken, but that conclusion was eradicated when Luther began to murmur and curse about a very specific item. “...Blade… F-cking blade… Blade… F-cking chest…”

Raymond knew this was another episode of his, the ones that happened every night. He pushed himself up on his elbow, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak but remembered what his friend had told him: Don’t talk, leave him be. It will go away on its own.

Luther stood from the bedside. “...F-cking blade… Right through the f-cking chest… Right through…” he stood there, very still, very quiet. If Raymond didn’t know any better he would have thought his friend was absolutely mental. 

“...F-cking… Blade…”

A blade. Last time was doves, now a blade? What did they have to do with each other? Raymond couldn’t help but wonder.

It was disturbing to see Luther like this. The way he rambled on and on, so vulgarly, so quietly, it was beyond strange. It almost hurt Raymond to watch, because it seemed like the blonde was in pain himself. The gambler’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness after a bit, and he was at an angle where he could just barely see the side of Luther’s face. It was twisted, full of anger. His eyes were clamped shut, his lips hooked into a scowl, his teeth grinding against one another as he chanted. “...Blade… Blade… F-cking blade…”

Raymond pushed the sheet off of him, scooting across the bed. He carefully planted his feet on the floor so as not to make a noise and stood just behind Luther. He wasn’t entirely sure how to approach… 

The gambler stepped around to meet his friend face to face. The blonde’s expression was… more than painful. He looked like he was in agony—like there really was a blade straight through his chest. Ray put his hands out to gently push Luther back to the bed but changed his mind. A more subtle approach would be better. He allowed his hands to meet the blonde’s, delicately holding them. 

Luther’s eyes opened in a drunken manner, struggling to stay that way, his face relaxing in an instant. His twitching fingers clasped Ray’s tightly, and his body fell gracefully onto the gambler. There wasn’t much weight to hold—Luther must have still been supporting most of himself. Raymond didn’t flinch or recoil, he freed the blonde’s hands and wrapped his arms around his friend’s torso. 

The murmuring and chanting stopped. All that was left was a quiet room and the two men. 

Raymond was greedily eating up the attention that Luther was unknowingly giving him. The warmth of his body, the pattern in his breathing, the closeness…

The gambler warded those thoughts away before they got too out-of-hand. He slowly pulled away with hands still on Luther, cautiously turning him around and stepping to the bed. It wasn’t so much of a push as it was a descent to the furnishing, calm and silent.

Blue eyes tracked Ray’s every move. He coaxed the blonde to lay down but was unable to make him let go. Luther’s hands had tight holds on Raymond’s sleeves, pinching the fabric. The gambler was able to wiggle his fingers between skin and cloth, and pale hands traded the sleeves for Ray’s touch. 

The gambler put himself on his knees, holding Luther’s hand close to his lips as he rested his head on the edge of the bed. Both of them were gazing longingly into each other’s eyes, half-asleep, half-caring. At that point, Raymond wasn’t sure if his friend was still having his episode. At that point, it didn’t matter.

Ray watched the satanist drift to sleep. His glowing blue eyes ceased to create light as a curtain shielded them, and his steady breathing was the only sign of soul. The gambler must have fallen asleep for a few minutes. When he woke, he removed himself from the kneeling position and placed himself in the bed next to Luther. Facing him. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


A few lonely days passed. Each night the blonde would get up and perform his act, and each time Ray made it his job to put his friend back to bed. The days were often tiring because of it, but the gambler never voiced a word of complaint.

Luther knew it would take a while for Mabel to respond if she was still out there. He told Raymond that she lived secluded, alone in a remote area. He expected her to visit a nearby town every once in a while, but if they didn’t catch a letter back from her in two weeks, they’d plan their own journey without her. For now, they should just… be normal. Do what the crowd was doing. There were plenty of people here in St. George, plenty who didn’t know them, plenty who didn’t care to. They just had to keep it that way.

The shock of what had happened in Vegas came and went. One night in the hotel they held a small, invisible funeral for Nana. It wasn’t much of anything. They wished her well and gave sympathy to her husband who they couldn’t communicate with.

“That’s the tricky thing about this,” Luther had said, “As a satanist, you know, you’re supposed to hate God’s people. You’re supposed to convert as many as you can. You’re supposed to get even with the most powerful thing in the universe by any means necessary.” He sighed, “But if Heaven is as great as they make it… Nana was the person to go there. Some people deserve that much…”

Raymond took that to heart. 

After that, there wasn’t much to expand on. What was done was done, and neither of them could change it, no matter what they did. Moving on was their only option.

That day they found themselves in a bar. It was spacious and warm, the soft lights and buzzing atmosphere perfect for them to avoid standing out. There was a healthy mix of people; young and old, men and women, different races. Waiters and waitresses were passing drinks and food along, prostitutes and dancers floated about, people were laughing and gossiping, some were playing dice or cards—it was a jolly crowd. Luther and Raymond were at a table, handling wines as they were given, enjoying the evening.

“You know,” the blonde started, “There’s been this pretty one looking at you for a while.”

Ray blinked and set his glass down. “Hm?” He turned in his chair and looked in the direction that Luther gazed.

“That group, you see them?”

Sure enough, a small group of three women was near the other end of the room. One of the three was as pale as Luther, the other two having rich, dark skin. All three of them had vibrant, extravagant makeup that made their faces look like a doll’s and beautifully done-up hair. Their dresses reached the floor with frills layering the skirts and sleeves. The shortest of them, a lovely lady with long hair and dark eyes, gave Raymond a smile and a wave—seemingly innocent enough, and Ray gave a wave back.

“Are you calling them over?” Luther asked, surprised.

Ray turned back, realizing, “Sh-t, those are hookers—”

The blonde laughed at him. “Hell, you’re not even gonna invite me on the ride?”

“Luther…!” the gambler knocked the table, and the blonde only leaned back and laughed. Of course he wasn’t serious, but Ray fell for his teasing.

After a moment or two, the blonde’s eyebrows raised, and he was chuckling again. “Don’t turn around, Ray. Here they come~”

Ray swore under his breath.

A few fingers tickled either of the gambler’s shoulders, and he found two ladies on either side of him. He looked to both, their eyes constantly fluttering as they spoke. “We couldn’t help but notice you, sir~” the shorter of the two said.

Raymond saw the third over by Luther, running a hand through his hair. He was giving Ray this sh-teating grin the entire time, not saying anything.

“Oh, uhm… Please,” Ray tried, “Don’t be focusin` your attention on us,” he leaned closer to the table, not daring to make eye contact.

The taller of the two put her hands on the table, and the gambler realized a large pair of breasts were swaying just next to his face. He kept his eyes forward. “Why not? You’re both such pretty things~”

The gambler very quietly chuckled to himself to try to push off the edge, feeling extremely uncomfortable at this. A frail hand on his back made his voice erupt, and he warded the two off as politely as he could. “Really, ladies. We’re not up for anythin` tonight,” he cringed as his voice cracked. 

“Maybe another night,” Luther pitched in. 

The prostitutes seemed only slightly disappointed but accepted the excuse overall. “ _ Hoping _ for another night~” and the three of them backed off. They whispered and giggled to each other as they regrouped and walked away, their eager eyes watching for any tables to flag them down.

“Jesus, Ray,” the blonde started, “You took that pretty rough.”

The gambler shrugged, “Sh-t, I dunno…” he grabbed the back of his neck, pulling his chair in. 

“Not your type?” Luther tried to lighten the mood. “A bit too glamorous for me. I guess you gotta be in this crowd, though.”

Ray drank the rest of his glass of wine in one go, trying to relax.

“You know I’m only kidding, right?”

The gambler snapped himself out of it. “Yeah. Yep.” He shook his head, “Sorry, just… First time for everythin`?”

“C’mon, Ray. Your entire life you’ve never been asked to a fun time?”

“I dunno.”

Luther cocked his head to the side. “Something on your mind?”

“Not really.”

“Something you wanna say?

“...”

“Ray~”

The fact was, Raymond wasn’t even annoyed. He was still stuck in this frozen state of what seemed to be shock, but was actually a state of confusion. What was he supposed to think? Why did he act that way? Being with Luther felt so normal, it felt so real; all his emotions were automatic and never forced. Yet when he was confronted with those women everything was backward. Was it supposed to be that way? He suddenly felt like he shouldn’t be attracted to those ladies just as much as he was attracted to Luther.  _ F-ck, not attracted _ , here come those panicked thoughts,  _ sh-t _ . Was everything with Luther just a lie? Was it fake? Was it backward? How the hell should he feel about that?

“Raymond?”

The question was of genuine concern. The gambler realized he’d been off in his own head for too long, staring straight through the man who sat adjacent to him. He refocused and saw the puzzled expression on his friend’s face. God, Ray felt like an idiot. “Sorry. No, I’m a`ight,” he eyed his empty glass, “Sorry, musta just hit me.”

“Oh,” Luther chuckled, “Don’t get hammered, man. I don’t wanna carry you back.”

“I don’t think you’d be able to,” Ray said, thinking he’d gotten away with it.

“Don’t challenge me, pretty boy,” the blonde teased and took a drink.

Raymond knew he wasn’t in the clear. Luther was sneaky and was a fantastic liar and actor. He let Ray go on purpose, the gambler knew. He only hoped it didn’t come back to bite him later. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://docs.google.com/document/d/1KZm9MkcEfTaqDI5NFv_7E6AvrUHo_tEhL-SX5MXiQGk
> 
> I’m not funny


	13. Choosing Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1 Peter 5:7

“Luther,” Raymond addressed, “What’re these for?”

It was the next day. They were finally beginning to accept their situation and trying to get a little cozy. The satanists had cleaned up the room the best they could, made some cash that day by hauling things in and out of the building for other residents, and were revisiting their own belongings. The gambler was digging through his heavy bag—as was Luther.

“The books?” the blonde responded.

“Yeah.”

Ray was on the floor, back against the bed, and Luther was up top. The blonde moved to loom over his friend. “Eh… They’re important for a lot of stuff,” he sighed, “In the heat of the moment I wanted to grab the most expensive ones, the most useful ones. I tried to mark the ones I thought were important in gold. So that’s why there’s gold strips along a lot of them.”

Ray took a book out of the bag and opened it up to a random page in the center. He expected Greek, but to his surprise, it wasn’t in that language.

“Latin,” Luther said.

“Are all of them in Latin?”

“Not all of them. A few are in Greek, uhm… a few in…” he was itching at his brain, “I’d have to look at them to remember.”

“What do they say?”

“A lot of general stuff. Possessions, summoning, priests, what-have-you,” the blonde explained, “Just for refining and getting better at practices. Performing any of it takes… a lot of time out of the day, though. And since we don’t have a safe place to do any of it, we don’t really… have a need for them right now.”

Raymond frowned. “Yeah,” he checked the satchel for anything else but found nothing. He sighed and leaned back.

Luther took Ray’s hat from his head and pet his hair. “What’s on your mind?”

“Right as things were movin` along, it all fell apart,” Ray voiced. He enjoyed the sweet chills that trickled down his spine as the blonde combed his pale fingers through the gambler’s hair. “I mean, what were we doin`, even? I think I forgot.”

“I was trying to get you used to all the business. That way we could get out of the city and travel and whatnot, find others, get them to join our cause. The real fight starts in Hell, might as well recruit some soldiers before the action.”

“Well, yeah,” Raymond said, “But then Harris comes along and… Jesus Christ, what was his deal?”

“His daddy was probably a Confederate who lost a toe or something in the war. He’s just a racist bastard.”

“Oh… right.”

“Which, you know, f-ck him for that.”

“Yeah, but then he went as far as to take out his problems on the people we were associated with?” Even when the gambler tried to get a little heated, the cooling feeling on his scalp was enough to calm him. “He ain’t just racist, him and his boys are f-ckin` evil.”

“Double f-ck him.”

“Funny how us two are better people than him.”

“Triple f-ck him!”

Ray grinned and giggled. “Sh-t, what’d he say that one day at the bar? When we actually met for the first time? He said he had a buddy by the east coast lookin` for business ideas.”

“I think we’ve given him enough inspiration,” Luther filled in.

“That’s what I was gon` say!”

They chuckled together.

Luther pushed the gambler’s head forward in a joking manner, “Look at your hair. You’ve got a mane~” 

“Tch!” Ray turned around, “You can’t say much.”

Luther was smiling. “I’m sure we could find scissors somewhere in the building.”

The gambler shook his head, “You can’t cut hair.”

“Says who?” The blonde hopped off the bed, and Ray stood.

“Seriously? Where do your skills come from?”

“C`mon, it’s not hard. Plus, I don’t wanna pay for a haircut. And I’m sure you don’t either.”

Ray rolled his eyes as he hovered around his friend. “If you can find scissors, fine.”

That took a while. Luther went around the building knocking on doors at one point, only to find a pair in the back of their closet later on. They both got trimmed up easy enough, tossing the hair in the trash, and feeling alright. 

Boredom was an easy feat to come by. Throughout the day the two of them had nothing to do besides talk and think and talk some more. Raymond tried again and again to read some of the books that were in Greek but ended up distracting himself time after time and gave up. 

They talked about finding a place to work just to make a quick cash grab but ultimately did nothing about it. An afternoon nap followed, and their laziness was accompanied by grey, dry clouds.

Ray was woken by Luther’s comforting hands on his face. Fingers sweetly tickled up the gambler’s cheek and into his hair. His eyes fluttered open to see the portrait of Luther’s smile, the blonde’s calm expression welcoming to any creature. “Ray~” he beckoned, “I have an idea.”

The clouds had subsided enough to allow the sun’s face to become visible. It’s golden rays stabbed through the window of the room, illuminating the satanists’ space in a warm glow. 

Raymond was on his back on the bed, sprawled out and comfy. He brought his own hand up to meet Luther’s, gazing at the blonde longingly.

“You waking up?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah…” Ray responded as Luther’s hand left. Both of them sat up and the gambler rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. “What’s your idea?”

“Get some shoes on,” Luther hopped off of the furnishing, already set for his plan. “I wanna go somewhere.”

Raymond stood and threw his arms over his head, stretching. “Where?” he asked.

“Just c`mon,” the blonde told him, politely zealous. 

The gambler was already thinking of ideas in his head. Maybe Luther had found a place to set up a summoning room. Maybe they were going to practice their powers. Maybe it was as simple as he had found a restaurant he wanted to visit. Or Mabel had arrived? 

He spotted a map on the bedside table—a map of the city to be exact. He remembered finding that a few days ago and wasn’t surprised by it. It was expected that travelers would stop in hotels, and newcomers would want a layout of the town. Luther must have been tracing the roads on the paper and found something particular. 

Once both were ready, they left the room and traveled out of the hotel.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Raymond had been led clear out of city limits. It took slightly less than an hour to get to their destination. By then the sky had cleared entirely and the sun had hidden behind the horizon, its orange blood still soaking the sky, but draining by the minute. They could see the city from where they stood, but it looked considerably smaller from the distance.

The satanists were upon a colorful, dusty canyon. They weren’t up the highest they could go, but they felt tall enough to feel the breeze and tower above the trees below. At the base of the canyons, small shrubbery slept, appearing all variants of green, teal, and blue with the sky reflecting upon them. The red dust gently swept over the surface of the tops of the formations before submitting itself to the breeze and dispersing in the wind. 

Raymond couldn’t believe he didn’t think of coming here sooner than Luther had. He knew he must have entirely missed the beautiful landforms while caught up in the moment upon arriving in St. George. The canyons were settled just north of the city, adding even more charm to the already-lively environment. The gambler hardly cared about the dirt under his fingernails from the climb or the frosty air—this was a sight to be seen for what it was truly worth.

Raymond was close to the edge of the platform they were on, taking in the miles and miles of earth he could see. The blood-red shadows stretched incredibly long across the land, even for the smallest of pebbles and needles. 

Luther was smiling at him, standing a few steps back. “You like it, Ray?”

The gambler exhaled with gratitude, holding himself with his hands on either arm. He lifted his chin and admired the sky as it darkened in a million shades of blue. “It’s so damn pretty,” he said, earning a small chuckle from his friend. “It ain’t what I’m used to, either.”

“I can imagine,” Luther stepped forward, rubbing arms with the gambler, “What, all you have is farming fields down south? Just a bunch of cotton, right?”

“Cotton, wheat, sugar, tobacco. Lots of other stuff, too. Lookin` out here, with all the dust and the cold, no way could you make any livin` off farmin`.”

Luther jokingly groaned, giving his friend a nudge, “You’re such a country boy. You need a cowboy hat instead of this bowler,” he flicked the hat.

“You’d never survive down there, you’d be lickin` boots,” Ray teased.

“Do you hear how southern you sound? Your accent’s really coming out!”

“Shut up,” the gambler laughed.

Luther giggled and took a seat at the edge, not allowing his legs to dangle. “I brought us up here to see the sights. I thought it’d be neat.”

Raymond sat down with him, “It really is.”

“I think so, too. Plus, it’d be nice to see the stars again,” he looked up at the ever-darkening sky. A few small dots were speckling the space above, but they were hardly noticeable. “That’s really why I wanted to come out here.”

“It’ll take `em a second.”

“Yeah…”

They both sat there, enjoying the silence as nightfall corrupted the day in the most passive and passionate of ways. They both held their limbs close to their bodies as the air progressively got colder and colder. 

Luther sighed in a content manner. “I know you’ve been helping me sleep as of late,” he said to Raymond, “I…” he tilted his head, looking forward, “...I haven’t felt this good in years… Even given the circumstances… It actually feels like I’ve been resting… And I’ve been starting to remember my dreams…”

The gambler listened.

“Right when things start to get bad in my nightmares, it ends. And then I actually feel like I’m asleep…” he squinted his eyes, “...That hasn’t happened for… forever.”

A small moment of quiet.

“So, uhm… What I’m trying to say is: thank you. I… Well, not a lot of people put up with that,” he grinned genuinely.

Raymond felt his core warm up and he found it impossible to stop the smile from appearing across his lips. He knew that helping Luther out was dwelling on his own health, but it wasn’t affecting him as much as he thought it would. And up until this point, he wasn’t even sure if the blonde knew about it. But the blonde did know, and he was grateful. And that was really all Ray needed. “It ain’t no trouble,” he said, “I guess I stopped gettin` freaked out after a few times. And you’re really calm, usually. It’s easy enough.”

“Oh, don’t go boasting about it now,” Luther teased. 

Ray chuckled. “It’s easy, but it sure sounds like it shouldn’t be. It sounds like you’re ready to fight someone.”

“What’s that mean?”

“You cuss a lot when you have them nightmares. Usually the F-word.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard about that. Everyone that happens to be lucky enough to see those episodes says I’m crazy.  _ F-cking doves _ one night,  _ f-cking fall _ the other.”

“You were talkin` `bout a knife the other night.”

“A knife?”

“Well, a blade, I s’pose.”

“Oh. That makes sense,” he said, mainly to himself.

The sky had nearly completely darkened. There was barely any light, and what light there was left was only making the darkness harsher. Ray felt bothered, unable to know what his friend did. Why did a  _ blade  _ make sense? What made his friend like this? “...Luther?” he started, “What… happened?”

Silence.

“I know I’ve asked a bunch before. And I know you always swatted me off. So… I can understand if you won’t tell.”

Luther hesitated. “I know. I’m… dodgy. Sorry,” he sighed. “I need to man up some time and tell you what happened. I just…” he brought a hand to his chest, placed over where his heart would be, “It’s hard for me.”

“I get it,” Ray assured.

The blonde was frowning. His eyes read dozens of emotions at once, grey and incomplete. He looked conflicted, as if arguing with himself whether or not to talk. He created a fist with the fabric of his shirt, nearly scowling—not at Raymond, at himself. 

The gambler looked away, down at the ground so far below them. It was the most privacy and comfort he could offer the blonde. 

“I don’t think I’ll tell you… tonight. But I should show you this, just so you can…” he huffed, “I don’t know, get an idea?”

Raymond turned his head back to Luther, curious. What could he possibly show to give the gambler  _ an idea? _

The blonde had led his own fingers to the buttons on his shirt, undoing them from the collar. With heavy movements and goosebumps being raised, he parted the white coverings on his chest, revealing the same area his hand clutched just a moment ago.

Night had settled upon the land with great slowness. It allowed Raymond’s eyes to adjust to the lighting, little by little. So, even on this cold and dim night, he could still see what was shown to him. 

A deep, clean scar had made its home upon Luther’s left breast, right where his heart would be… straight through the chest… The crater was pale, almost pure white, and the skin covering it seemed extremely tight and fragile. Ray could fit his thumb in the hole, but even then it would be loose and roomy. He didn’t want to, anyway—the skin might break if he did so. The scar wasn’t fresh, but very delicate-looking. 

Raymond remembered having dressed down back at the underground base, however many moons ago. How could he not notice something as detrimental as that? It was gut-wrenching, it made his fingers twitch, his lips recoil, and his chest hurt. 

The blonde was quick to cover it back up. The gambler couldn’t stop the question, “Luther, what happened?”

There wasn’t even a look of recognition, let alone an answer.

“That…” the gambler stopped himself.

But Luther continued, “...Looks terrible, I know.” 

“No—”

“It’s not like I wanted it,” the blonde cut him off, annoyed. He was looking everywhere but the gambler, not seeming to be aware of the moment, just venting to the open air. “It’s not like I f-cking asked for it. It’s not like I like it—”

“ _ Luther _ ,” Raymond placed a firm hand on his friend’s thigh, causing the blonde to jump, startled, and stare through the gambler. Ray focused his eyes on Luther’s as Luther’s eyes focused on Ray’s. “I’m not sayin` anythin` like that. You’re makin` all that up…” his words were soothing and ran like a river.

The blonde’s face softened and one of his hands touched Raymond’s. His fingers drummed on the back of the gambler’s hand.

“I won’t talk `bout it. You ain’t got to remember anythin` you don’t want to,” a pause, “Okay…?”

Luther pursed his lips, nodding. “Sorry… I,” he took a breath, “Like I said, it’s hard to talk about.”

“Don’t tell me twice,” Raymond pulled his hand away once the blonde’s fingers ceased their activity. “You know you’re okay, right?”

… 

Ray waited.

“...Yeah…” Luther answered. 

Silence followed. Silence stayed. For a short while, at least. To pass the time, they both craned their necks upward towards the heavens. The infinite amount of glowing freckles mirrored in their eyes, mesmerizing the both of them. They twinkled and flickered like candles, occasionally painting themselves across the sky in smooth, short strokes before disappearing forever. 

“Up north…” the blonde started, “...You could see more lights if you were lucky.”

Raymond appreciated how he didn’t have to be the one to force a new conversation after that train wreck of a last one. He listened to Luther’s words that were full of nostalgia. 

“They’re these huge clouds of lights… Like tails in the sky… Colorful—green and red and blue and purple…” he closed his eyes, imagining the strange clouds, Raymond guessed. “They’d move and snake through the stars… I always thought if I reached far enough, I could touch one of them…”

Ray hadn’t ever heard of these clouds. But the thought of them being fake never crossed his mind. He hung on every word, only hoping the picture in his own head was close to accurate. How far north would you have to go to see them?

“If I go back home for  _ anything _ , it would be for those.”

“...What do you call them?” Ray asked.

“Auroras,” Luther answered. His eyes opened, blue and shimmering. If the gambler looked close enough, he swore he could almost see those auroras in the blonde’s eyes. He noticed Ray gazing at him, and calmly locked gazes. “...Tell me something about your little town. If you would go back, what would it be for?”

Raymond thought. He thought for a while. All his answers seemed too plain or too stupid, though… Pushing himself for time, he disappointingly answered, “I would say the stars, but… They’re the same ones we’re seeing right now.” He glanced up. “There ain’t really anythin`… special about my place… Not like how you talk about your place.”

“There’s always something interesting about a place. Even in the worst of them. Hell has its charms, I bet.”

Ray really thought. “I s’pose…” he felt dumb for saying this, but it was the best he had, “...the noise.”

Luther listened to him.

“When I was in Vegas it was… strange. It was either too loud or too quiet. You could hardly hear the wind or any animals. All that was familiar were the cicadas singin`, and even they sounded different,” he sighed, “But back home, you could be anywhere, and you’d always hear somethin` nice. I used to live on the plains where it’s windy as hell. When I was sleepin` I’d always hear the house pop and move, and the whistle of wind against my window frame.

“If you went outside in the fields, the wheat would scrape against each other, and I’d listen to that. That and the bugs flyin` `round. I’d catch crickets and grasshoppers as a kid… Sometimes mantises, but I always was scared of those ones…” Raymond was smiling without even realizing it. “You find a patch of flowers and you got to listen to the bees. You sit by the river and you got to listen to…” his smile faded as his tone changed, “...the water… move…”

Luther tilted his head.

“...I don’t like the water much…”

“Why not?”

Ray sighed, “I thought you knew.” Looking at the blonde, his friend’s face housed a curious and confused expression. 

“Why would I know?”

The gambler brought a hand to his neck, itching at his skin. “I… You know everythin` `bout me, don’t you?”

Luther wasn’t responding.

“When we first met,” Ray explained, “You were sayin` all sorts of stuff `bout me that I never told you. I just assumed that was some power of yours or somethin`... That you could read my head.” 

The blonde’s eyes lit up as if he remembered, and his lips curled back to let out a low hiss. He seemed… regretful? Raymond wasn’t quite able to read his expression. “I guess, but… Not exactly,” he sort of laughed, “After all this, I haven’t explained  _ that _ to you. That’s my bad.” He continued, “Mr. Earnest, I only know a few things. It’s… I suppose an ability, like us shaping into animals. But it wasn’t given to me directly. I think it’s just a habit I got while hanging around our patron a bunch.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means that being around a literal demon is going to have side-effects. Some good, some bad. In my case, I guess I was screwed up enough beforehand not to get any of the damning stuff.”

Ray drew conclusions for himself, “So… You’re able to know what others are thinkin`?”

“Only barely, and only if it’s recent and changing their mood. So, if someone’s happy and doesn’t wanna tell, I can know the general reason why. Maybe they just got married, maybe they suddenly became rich. In your case, I saw you were upset because you lost a bunch of money. But that wasn’t the only reason.”

The gambler sighed with his elbows on his knees. “`Cause my sister.”

Luther nodded, “`Cause of your sister.”

Raymond had a solemn frown on his face.

“All I knew was that your sister kicked you out. I don’t know why. I also knew before you told me that your mom had passed. I don’t know what from.” A pause. “Are you starting to get it?”

“...I get it,” Raymond nodded, “So, you really don’t know why all that happened?”

The blonde slowly shook his head, “Not a clue.” He looked off to the blue land, “And I know I’ve been dodging you. So, if you don’t wanna tell me your story, I won’t hold it against you.”

The wind wasn’t whistling any longer. It made their silence so much more powerful, so much more alive. In Ray’s head, there was a battle—a debate over whether or not to spill it all. He hadn’t told anyone. It’s been… months. And, looking at Luther, he seemed… trustworthy. He seemed  _ more _ than trustworthy. And god damnit, if Ray didn’t get this off of his chest now, he might burst from the depression.

“...I think I wanna tell you…” the gambler admitted.

… 

Luther waited for him.

Raymond, honestly nervous, scanned the land before them. The city, shimmering there, the glow of its lights only spreading so far. He couldn’t hear them, but he could imagine the soft bustle of the citizens. Those citizens who might hear him…

He was paranoid. He dragged his palms down his trousers and took a breath. “I don’t even know where to start…” he grabbed the back of his neck, his clammy hands terribly uncomfortable.

“How about… why you don’t like the river?” Luther tried to help.

That was the last thing Ray wanted to talk about. But it was the only thing he  _ could _ talk about. He truly didn’t know how to begin without jumping right in. So, here goes… “About… 10 years ago… I think…” he rubbed on the lump in his throat, “A friend and me were runnin` `round the day after a storm. We were in a field that had a creek splittin` through it, and the creek was real full. Ran awful fast. Rocks jutting out of everywhere. Eventually, it ran into the forest and, after that, it splits off in a few different ways. If it was shallow we’d jump down and catch frogs and snakes and stuff like that. Make lil` fish traps, build tiny forts outta rocks, just screw `round.” He was obviously trying to recall better memories to block out the bad ones. He had to come around. “But, uh… It wasn’t shallow; like I told you, there was a storm. Rushing water. Creek turned to a river.

“You know, usually we stay back. But it was just two of us, Jackson and I, and…” he remembered the name so easily, like he still knew that kid. There were memories forgotten, memories he didn’t dare think of again lest he was to get too emotional. God… did he even know Jackson that well? He could hardly remember. Too many things had happened. “...sh-t, I dunno what we were thinkin`.

“We dared each other to get as close to the water as we could. We were outta sight of our town, so nobody would see us and yell at us.” He swallowed, “We were pushin` and trippin` each other, gettin` in the mud, just bein` boys, you know?” A pause. “And then I pushed him again, and…” he remembered the look on that boy’s face. He was still smiling when he went down. He was still smiling when he crashed into the water—water hungry for violence and the flesh of a teenage boy. It swallowed him up and, “...that was the last I saw of Jackson.”

Raymond wasn’t looking at anything anymore. He stared into the black abyss of the horizon, the stars gazing down at him, listening to him as he spoke his tale and knowing his folly. 

“I mean… It wasn’t…” he was pushing his fingernails into the skin of his palms. “I did  _ mean _ to push him. But it was an accident. I didn’t think he’d… I didn’t…” he sighed, bringing his hands up to rub his face. “I didn’t  _ think… _ at all…”

That was a tough thing to sympathize with. Luther wasn’t speaking, Luther wasn’t moving, Luther wasn’t reacting. 

Raymond had to go on before the silence ate up his mind entirely. “After that, it was real rough…” he said, his voice wavering, “Everyone was in shock, nobody knew what to do. Some guys tried to look for Jackson, but… you can guess how that turned out.

“I didn’t know how to feel. Nobody was even really… mad at me. Disappointed, if anythin`, but even then they were quick to forgive.” He remembered the ghost of the words of what the boy’s mom had said to Raymond. Something about… not wanting to waste her time in anger… It was irrelevant to the story, anyway. “It should have ended there. But… Christ, I messed up again. 

“I guess I felt like I was bein`... beat up? Attacked, when I wasn’t. I made myself a f-ckin` victim `bout it and it was a selfish thing of me to do. I was just bein` angry and mean and narcissistic for the rest of my life. My mama kept pushin` stuff on me and I shoulda listened to her… I think I shoulda…” he regretted saying that, but he meant it. “She wanted me to pray with her. She wanted me to ‘find God.’ She wanted me to… I dunno—obviously I didn’t listen much. And I always got mad at her for tryna change me—for tryna help me.” He rubbed his temple, “I was so stupid. God damnit, I was so stupid.

“Tensions were high in the house after that. I just wasn’t gettin` along with nobody, nobody wanted to be `round me. And then, a few years later, my mama got sick. Real sick. Every year it got worse and worse, until this last winter, it finally cut her off.” He was having a tough time believing it had been that long ago, yet his dreams haunted him constantly, making it feel as if it happened yesterday. Those internal thoughts stayed quiet. “And the worst part `bout it was I didn’t do jacksh-t. Every damn day she wanted to see me, she wanted to talk to me. And I  _ never _ —” he stopped abruptly upon hearing his own voice crack. His blurry vision offered no comfort while retelling his memories. He brought his sleeve up to his lips as he cleared his throat. “I never once went to see her. I don’t know if I was… if I was pissed at her… or if I was scared of seein` her so sick… or anythin`...” He stared down at the ground beneath him, so far away. What if he fell…? “But before I knew it, she was gone…”

The silence was the gambler’s only friend. He wouldn’t have been surprised if Luther wasn’t even there anymore and Raymond was just speaking to the open air.

“I… I did what I did best and pushed myself outta the situation. I didn’t… do anythin` for her. I don’t even think I went to the funeral, for f-ck’s sake,” he hissed, “And I hate myself every day for it. But… I don’t think anyone hated me more than my sister did. Er…  _ does _ .

“By then we were both adults. She was the oldest, the house was hers. She was fed up with me. We… argued. Fought. I said some stupid sh-t, she threw things. And…” he sighed, realizing he was practically finished, “...I was kicked out. Went to Vegas. You know what happens from there.”

Raymond didn’t notice the bite of the wind or the tears on his cheeks. His overwhelming emotions whilst recalling his life from start to finish had numbed him physically. He wasn’t aware of his surroundings any longer. But he felt so strange… Ray thought he should be burying himself to Earth’s core with the heaviness of the story, but he felt… light… like he could jump right now and he wouldn’t ever hit the ground…

It must have been millennia before that soft, gentle hand touched his cheek. Only then did the gambler feel the tears on his face, the goosebumps risen, and the clattering of his teeth. He saw Luther, his curly blonde hair being rustled by the breeze, his bright blue eyes sharing the gambler’s gaze. Both of his pale hands had cupped his friend’s face, wiping the tears. “...You’ve been wanting to get that off your chest for a while, haven’t you…?”

All of Raymond’s combined emotions spilled from his face. Tears like overflowing creeks streamed down his face, coughs and whines escaped his mouth like his lungs had been filled with water, and his head throbbed as if he’d bashed it against a stray rock. He grabbed onto Luther, pulling at his coat as the blonde clutched him in a warm, tight embrace. 

The gambler himself didn’t draw any obvious conclusion to his depression. He just remembered the night it ended, but never could recall the precise transition. Did his sadness dwindle when he was retelling the story? Was it the silence that followed through every pause, pulling his words into the world and away from him, that ended the sorrow? Was it Luther, sympathizing in the simplest and kindest way possible? He didn’t know. All he was able to recognize was finally,  _ finally _ , being able to be understood. Most of his actions as an adult were hindered as results from his past, he knew. And knowing that someone was able to allow him consolation was… pleasantly… and calmly… stimulating.


	14. The Eleventh Hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Proverbs 27:9

Not more than two days later had the two satanists found themselves dining at a small restaurant. It was at the edge of the city, cramped and shoddy with drunks hanging around every corner and the smell of tobacco infecting the air around them. They were trying to make the most of it—the layer of grey breaths from all the pipes had left their meaty meal with a smokey taste… not exactly the best way to acquire it, but they had to make due while trying to save up as much cash as possible. The food wasn’t terrible, though. In fact, it was fairly good. The meals were hearty and filling, nothing surprising, but hey, at least they weren’t eating tenderloins that had been mistaken for an ass-wipe earlier.

Another reason to go to that dingy place was to escape the buzz of the city. It was enchanting at first, but after a while, Raymond grew sick of it and insisted that they take a break from that for a while. If there was one,  _ only one _ thing he missed about miserable Las Vegas was its miserableness. People were doing whatever they could to brighten the grey day, but not too many citizens would clutter the streets to make it happen. It offered a small-town effort in a large environment. Plus, fewer people, more room; spaciousness was always good. Ray had to stop reminiscing. He knew that going back to that city was suicide. He focused on the restaurant. 

But it felt like these past two days had been spent doing nothing  _ but _ reminiscing. They were calming down after Ray’s confession. The morning after, Luther had made some comments, assuring the gambler that what had happened didn’t make the blonde think any less of his friend. And he added that, if a vent was ever needed, he would be there for Raymond.

Ray admitted that he was grateful for Luther. If it wasn’t for him, he would have gone to his grave with that. He told the blonde that he thought he’d feel a lot worse after voicing that tale, but he actually felt somewhat better. Luther seemed to know exactly what he was talking about, and they related to each other. 

They had nowhere else to be and nothing else to do. They hung around the bar for as long as time allowed, Luther inevitably poking fun at other customers across the room—all quiet enough for only Ray to hear, of course. Sometimes the gambler didn’t know if they were boys or men with the way the found the most innocuous and stupid of things outrageously funny and with the way they giggled like schoolgirls. It was fun, nonetheless.

The day dragged on into early evening. One of them had decided to get a little tipsy—oh, you better believe it was the blonde bastard. Nothing serious, of course. He was entirely aware of his surroundings and could still talk and, well, function, but he was definitely louder and bolder. Raymond had to swat drinks from his friend’s hand in order to keep him in the moment, all while trying to shush him when he became a bit  _ too _ brash.

By the time the sun had set, Luther was back on track. The minuscule effects of the drinks had worn off almost completely, and the blonde was back on his normal level of confidence (which was still a rather high level on its own). They decided it had gotten late enough and it was time to head back to the hotel. 

Just as Raymond stepped to the door after throwing his coat on, a large hand slapped itself onto the wood, starling the gambler. Following the arm that connected the hand to its body, Ray saw the irritated face of a light-haired man. His colorless eyes shot daggers through the gambler, and his breath was dastardly as he twirled a toothpick between his stained teeth. This was an older man, midlife, white, with a scraggly beard and shaggy hair. He wasn’t any bigger than Raymond or any taller than Luther.

Another man was behind him, roughly the same look, a little more round in the stomach. He was past his prime with a white goatee and thick, grey eyebrows—the only hair on his face. They were both dressed roughly the same—nothing fancy or even classy, for that matter, just some striped shirts and black trousers.

“Problem?” Raymond asked.

“We couldn’t helps but to overhear you `n your buddy over at yer table,” the younger of the two said, “And we don’t like what`chu said `bout us.”

Ray glanced back to Luther, then to the men again. He… vaguely… remembered their faces. He thought he recalled the blonde saying something about their stripes… but that was a while ago. 

Luther remembered just the same as Raymond had, but with much more confidence. He played it off, though, “`Bout what?”

The younger of the two took his hand away from the door, flicking the collar of his own shirt, “You know.”

“Oh, sorry. Forgot about you. It’s been an hour, you know?” he shrugged, stepping closer to the door, “But I guess you two really are as slow as you look, you neanderthal-clown lookin`—”

A punch was thrown by the younger man but missed considerably. Luther was far too quick, having already ducked and thrown himself into the man, knocking him backward and down onto the older fellow, creating quite a racket in the process. Then, the blonde pushed Raymond out the door, cackling like a hyena as he sprinted down the street.

“ _ Luther! _ You  _ idiot! _ ” Ray chased after him, holding onto his hat in the crisp air. 

“ _ Wooooo-whoop-whoop! _ ” Luther hallowed, laughing like an ass. 

Ray could have strangled him but was too busy laughing along through the adrenaline. He looked over his shoulder, finding the two older men scrambling out the door, quickly scanning the area until they both noticed the satanists making a dash. They did their best to chase after the two.

Raymond wasn’t very worried. He and Luther were running at roughly the same pace, and those two old men wouldn’t be able to catch up if they wanted to. The fugitives sprinted down the sidewalk, skipping over people and weaving through bodies. Ray trailed behind slightly, following the blonde wherever he took the race. 

Inward to the heart of the city they went. Nightfall had landed quickly upon the land, but the streetlights were more than enough to help them navigate. They jogged around shops and markets, no longer fearing the two old men that must have lost them already.

Ah, until those old men suddenly appeared from an alleyway just in front of them. It scared the hell out of both satanists, and they bolted in the opposite direction. Unlike in Vegas, these alleyways here traditionally had many exits as they wove between back-to-back buildings. These brawlers must have known a few shortcuts.

Luther was snickering through his heavy breathing, crossing in front of a quick-paced buggy on a busy street. Raymond put all his energy into his last few steps to escape the path of the buggy, and he still was able to feel the slight shake of the ground as the horses’ hooves stomped just next to his feet. The driver shot some disapproving words the satanists’ way, but they didn’t care. That buggy had given them a few extra seconds to escape by cutting off the two old men. 

Most of the buildings and shops had been closed up for the night and their alleyways added a touch of advantage to the friends. Luther grabbed ahold of Raymond’s hand and turned between two buildings.

The path led to the opposite side of the block and also branched off in the middle. Luther dragged the gambler clear down the alley, slowing dramatically. He had a plan, and Ray trusted him along for the ride. 

The old men were gaining on them, but obviously very tired. Persistent bastards, but their bodies weren't catching up like they wanted them to. Luther allowed the old men to move past the midline alleyway branching left and right, then darted out from between the buildings with incredible speed. Even Ray was having a tough time keeping up. Before the old men were even out on the block, Luther had taken a left and rounded a building, making a loop to trick their pursuers. He poked his head around the corner of the building where the men were last seen, and when he saw nothing, he took off down the midline alley. 

Past a few buildings they went before Luther took a sharp right. Ray assumed they were in the clear and would head back out to the block, but the blonde had something else in mind. They were along the side of what looked like a bakery; a peculiar side-door frame belonging to the shop jutted out and narrowed the alleyway for a short way. The frame was strange on its own, acting like an overhanging-yet-concave entrance for a castle. It was basically an intricately-shaped and deep composite frame—it may have originally been the main entrance. The overhang was open, while not leading directly inside the shop, but to a door that would lead inside. The gambler noticed his friend was wanting to go there and feared Luther was about to trespass.

Thankfully, though, that didn’t happen. Instead, the blonde pushed Raymond into the frame and against the far wall, hidden away from the outside world—save the opening, though someone would have had to stick their head in to see them.

Finally, they’d stopped. Raymond leaned his back against the wall, panting and gasping. Luther was just in front of him, hands on either side of Ray’s face, head down as he caught his breath.

Raymond was chuckling, quietly saying, “You’re such a casualty…”

Luther laughed along, “C`mon, you know I wouldn’t get us into any  _ real _ trouble.”

“You almost got punched—!”

“ _ Sh…! _ ” the blonde silenced. They both listened intently.

There was nothing to hear other than the distant rumble of voices of the city. After a long minute or so, they both relaxed. “Thought I heard footsteps…” Luther said, leaning forward so he was pressing his weight on Ray’s. 

The gambler snickered and placed his hands on either side of his friend’s torso, jokingly pushing him but allowing him to stay in place. “Guess not,” he responded.

The blonde’s hands were on the gambler’s shoulders and he had this lovely, knowing grin on his face as he gazed into dark eyes. There were no words said in this dark, quiet corner they found themselves in. No witty remarks. No whispers. Just the trails of shallow breaths and Luther’s hands riding Ray’s skin up to his face.

There was hardly a warning for the gambler, but he knew exactly what was about to happen. Luther had that look about him, that familiar glint in his eyes. It made Ray feel as light as air, yet he was grounded to his place. The moment hadn’t even registered to him until it was happening.

Luther had leaned in, closing the distance between the two of them. His lips landed upon the gambler’s, holding him still, holding him close. Ray’s eyes fell shut and his hands wrapped themselves around to the small of Luther’s back, clutching fabric. He could feel the smile on his friend’s lips. The warmth of their embrace gave off a strong connection that Raymond never wanted to break. Everything else was irrelevant at that moment, just white noise in a colorless world—this kiss was vibrant amongst it.

Luther was the one to pull away after a beautifully long few seconds. And when he did, the weight came crashing down on Raymond all at once. His eyes shot open and his jaw was left slightly agape, his joints locked and body frozen. He stared Luther in the eyes, a deep red swallowing the gambler’s face. The blonde was chuckling with his own pink-nipped cheeks, letting Ray’s head free and taking one of his friend’s hands from behind his back. He interlocked their fingers and commented, “Sorry, I should have asked first.”

Ray wheezed, having held his breath up until then. He collapsed his weight onto Luther, feeling like he could have died. “You…! Son of a bitch!” he laughed, allowing the blonde to wrap his arms around him. “You did that on purpose!”

“Well, of course I kissed you on purpose~” he teased.

Raymond laughed but, embarrassed, groaned at the same time. He was exhilarated, absolutely enthralled, but he was having  _ such _ a hard time acting his emotions out. He didn’t know how to. 

One of Luther’s hands traveled up to the back of Ray’s neck, giving a gentle pet. “Was that alright? Are you okay?” he asked, not too concerned, only genuine.

Raymond smiled the biggest he ever had, burying his face in Luther’s shoulder. “I’m happy. I’m so happy. I just—God, I dunno…!” he chuckled, looking up, “I didn’t know if you actually—I wasn’t sure how to go `bout—I’m just so—”

“Ray!” Luther laughed, fixing his friend’s hat. “Tell you what, tell you what… Let’s go home and you can be a giggly mess all you want~”

The gambler was a giggly mess anyway.

  
  


* * *

  
  


They made it back to the hotel easily enough. They’d lost the men who were chasing them, leaving the biggest inconvenience to be the cold. They made it to their room and threw off their heavy coats—not needing to wear them for the night after having bought a thick blanket days ago for their bed, unable to stand the chill. 

They both cleaned up for the evening. Raymond was beginning to get antsy, unable to stand the tension between the two of them. He watched Luther drift around the room, acting so casual, while Ray felt entirely out-of-place. Was it really as easy as Luther was making it look?

The gambler took a seat on the bed, pondering to himself although he wasn’t quite sure what to think. He didn’t have to sit in his idle state for long, though, as Luther exited the bathroom. The satanists locked eyes for a moment and the blonde smiled, making his way over. When he reached the gambler he sat next to him, and Ray welcomed him to touch. The blonde busied himself by making little adjustments to his friend—fixing his hair, smoothing his shirt, making the gambler chuckle at the meaningless tasks that Luther did, as if he was Raymond’s mother ensuring he looked well enough for Sunday church. It didn’t take long for him to realize that Luther was doing it on purpose only to break the barrier of silence and discomfort that so obviously hung in the air. 

“There,” the blonde commented, “Now you don’t look so much like a statue.”

Raymond could only smile and grant a slight chuckle. He knew all too well that he was doing this wrong, surely.

Luther was leaning against him. “Is it weird?” he asked quietly. 

“No…!” the gambler blurted immediately after the question ended, only proving that ‘it’ was indeed ‘weird.’ He just didn’t want his friend to think it was any of his fault. Ah… he supposed it was about time he stopped calling Luther merely a ‘friend.’ “I don’t want it to be weird or nothin`,” Ray said, “It’s just…” he never finished.

The blonde took a moment or two to answer, collecting his thoughts. “I don’t want to force anything on you.”

“You’re not,” the gambler assured.

“Oh, so does that mean you’ve been after me for a while?” Luther teased.

That only caused Raymond to grin and his face to redden, “Now you’re just puttin` words in my mouth.”

The entire night since the kiss, Ray hadn’t bothered to look Luther in the face. But now a palm grazed his cheek and he turned his head, gazing into bright, blue eyes. The blonde was at the same level as him, harboring a smile and pink cheeks, his soft face so comforting. Raymond knew why he didn’t dare look at Luther that night—he would have never looked away if he did—and now he was falling victim to his own trap. 

“Ray?” Luther began, “Is this official?”

The gambler thought of something and couldn’t stop himself from saying it: “Only if you let me try that kiss again,” and he called himself all equivalents of ‘idiot’ in his head afterward. His face went dark and only grew darker as Luther laughed, surprised and entertained.

“Oh, really~?”

“I didn’t—I mean—No no, wait—”

“Look at you, being flirty with me~”

Ray was laughing along, entirely too embarrassed now to be taken seriously, but still attempted to save himself. “I was just tryin`—We don’t got to—I was just—!”

“ _ Breathe _ , Ray!” Luther laughed, pushing off the bed with the gambler’s hands in his. He pulled Raymond up to his feet and hopped across the floor with him. Ray was pulled into a still, tight embrace as the blonde stopped and wrapped his arms around the gambler’s torso. Ray’s arms were free to go wherever they pleased, finding themselves on either of the blonde’s shoulders. Raymond felt the blood circulating and his body cooled as he moved, only to warm up again as he was held. He felt lighter but didn’t lose the bashfulness. 

Ray looked up the few inches of height that Luther had him beat by and kept his gaze on blue eyes. The heat radiating from either body made the cold bearable and the silence brought more comfort than absence. The scene calmed itself without the need for an intervention, and they were left standing in the golden light of the lamp. 

The blonde was already very close but he wouldn’t make the move; he’d allow the gambler to take charge. And take charge he did. Raymond gathered the courage and leaned in, this go-around feeling much less tense. When they kissed, Ray was lost in the moment again, feeling as though nothing could hurt him or take him away. They were both smiling through. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Raymond woke to movement in the bed. He knew what it was before he’d even opened his eyes: a night terror. The routine was automatic at this point. At the same time every night Luther would wake and speak to himself, then go through his rounds and wander the room. In recent nights Ray was able to catch him before he left the bed, like tonight. 

The blonde had sat up, tired eyes half-open, murmuring to himself. His quiet nature made Ray unable to understand what he was talking about, but he ultimately didn’t care. The gambler pushed himself up, strapped his arm over Luther’s chest, and gently pushed the satanist down to the bed. A breath escaped the blonde and he fought back a bit with his hands, but it was weak—all of that was normal. 

Ray laid next to him and watched for a moment. Luther’s hands placed themselves wherever they landed—one on Ray’s arm, the other to his side—and dim eyes shut. His breathing returned to normal and he was on his way to slumbering once again. 

Usually, Raymond would remove his arm after Luther calmed down. And, though Ray  _ did _ take his arm away, he kept hold of the blonde’s hand and watched him rest for a bit before sleep inevitably enveloped him. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


The next day, the satanists got themselves dressed and ready to head out. In a few more days the deadline for Mabel’s arrival would end and they would have to go on their own. They decided it would be wise to go check the city that day for any open work, that way they could make some cash when that deadline hit. 

Raymond thought for sure that things would continue to stay awkward between the two of them forever. He thought that after that kiss, and after that night, they would just have to live through the butterflies. But by morning, everything was normal. They were acting like they always had, friendly and stupid; Ray felt like he could just be himself without having to worry about anything overly-stimulating and forced. 

The gambler was waiting for Luther to pull his shoes on, and while he did, he took a peek out the window. The view showed the city streets and a few buildings some ways away from the open lot in front of the hotel. Something caught his eye in that lot: a large carriage. Its open back had crates and large glass canisters tied down to it, two horses roped to the front, and a woman at the reins. Ray couldn’t identify too much about her—only that she was pale white, had coal-black hair, and a long middle-class blue-grey dress. She was constantly assessing the area, head swinging back and forth, particularly checking the door of the hotel and the entrance of the lot.

“Hm,” Raymond chirped, “I think that’s a roadway saleswoman.”

Luther finished tying his shoes and stood up. “‘A roadway saleswoman’?” he echoed.

“You see them sometimes. They travel and sell their ornaments, stroll through small towns,” he said as the blonde went to the window, “I dunno what to call them, officially.”

“ _ Ha! _ ” Luther suddenly yelped, surprising Raymond. He threw his hands against the window frame and pushed off the wall, hopping around the room. “Ray! Grab your bag; that’s our girl!”

The gambler made a double-take, glancing out the window at the woman, then moving his feet. “That’s Mabel?” 

“ _ That’s Mabel! _ ” the blonde confirmed triumphantly. 

Ray pulled both satchels of books from the closet, walking briskly over to Luther who was digging through the nightstand, looking for anything that they may have stored. Ultimately finding nothing, he stole Ray’s hat from the table and plopped it on the man’s head, grabbed the bag, and left the room. The gambler followed suit, fixing his crooked hat as he went. They both already had their jackets on, and it was clear that Luther didn’t care about actually signing out of the building—he just stuck the key in the door and left it, then fled down the stairs. Raymond did his best to keep up.

They made it out the door and into the lot, Luther having the biggest smile on his face. The woman in dark noticed them instantly, but the blonde still gave her a welcome, “There she is! Didn’t think you were still alive!”

Raymond smiled at the woman, trying to be just as friendly and happy. But she… didn’t seem to care. Her freckled face was as hard as stone and unchanging from her frown, and her slim, green eyes gave them both side-glances. “You couldn’t have waited for summer to get in trouble?”

“Sorry,” Luther shrugged, clearly not sorry as he approached the front, “Bad news doesn’t care about the season.”

“Get in the back,” she ordered, grabbing the reins. 

The blonde elbowed Ray with a cheeky smile, dancing to the back of the open buggy. He hopped up, clinking the large glass containers together as he jostled the cart, and Raymond did the same. The gambler situated himself on a seat next to Luther and kept quiet as the horses began moving. 

The cart turned and the horses’ hooves clomped their way out of the gravelly lot. “Well, since you seem so very interested,” the blonde began with a touch of sarcasm, all while scooting down the bench as close as he could to the front, “I’m doing alright, and I’m glad to see you’re alive—”

“Save the talk for when we’re out of the city,” she told him, “I don’t need you running your mouth and screwing my life over.” 

“Why would I do that?” Luther egged on.

The serious woman glared at him over his shoulder, opening her mouth to speak, but then caught a view of Raymond. She stopped herself, asking, “Is he deaf?”

“No,” Luther answered.

She scowled and turned back, riding down the city streets. 

Ray sat there, frowning, feeling unwelcome.  _ What the hell did that mean?  _ he thought, and truly was confused. Obviously, if he was deaf, he wouldn’t be able to hear her—which was exactly what she would have wanted. But what did she want to say that Luther could hear but Ray couldn’t?

He tried not to jump to conclusions, but it was difficult given the circumstances. This woman only reminded him of Beata—that demon-patron was nothing short of a witch—and he already wasn’t excited. But then he remembered his situation and tried to be thankful. Wherever they were going, it was farther away from Vegas, and that was the goal.

  
  


* * *

  
  


They were heading east from the city, riding along the roads of dusty America. They planned to pass through a small town by the name of Springdale, probably taking a rest there before heading to their final destination in mountainous-canyons. It’d be midnight by the time they made it to the town, and even longer to make it to Mabel’s camp. Nearly a twenty-hour trip altogether. They were in it for the long haul, though.

The road was long and bumpy, as most of them were. Occasionally, they’d pass the rare buggy or cart heading the opposite way, but otherwise, the path was empty and uneventful. 

Luther, seeing that there was quite literally nobody else to hear his ramblings, continued his one-sided conversation from earlier. “Where’ve you been, Mabel?”

The woman clearly wasn’t one for talking. She kept her eyes forward and answered simply, “Same place as always.”

“All these years and you never moved around?” the blonde asked, almost tauntingly. 

“Isn’t this trip for you two?” she hissed, avoiding the question, “Why don’t you tell me about yourselves,” more of a command than a request.

Luther leaned back as far as the cart seat would allow him, shrugging and smirking. “Fine. We’ll talk a bit,” he started, “I went to Greece~”

“I know.”

“It went well. Saw some possessions,” he waited but received no response. He side-glanced at Raymond, “Not nearly as impressive as  _ your _ possessions~” he said to her.

Ray’s eyes lit up. “You perform possessions?”

Mabel scowled, “I was hoping he was mute…” she mumbled, though clearly didn’t care who heard, “Yes, I perform possessions.”

“On yourself?” Ray asked.

“Are you a madman? No!”

Raymond shut his mouth, fiddling with his fingers. 

“Don’t be hard on him,” Luther told her, “If you’re that annoyed about him not knowing, you could show him yourself,” he made the hint all-too-obvious. 

The woman sighed. “If I have to keep you two for long enough, you might just be lucky.”

There was a moment of silence that swept the cart. Ray lifted his head to see the dirty land of red and green—bright dust was carried in the wind over tufts of dull grass. For miles and miles stretched the flat, chalky landscape, and at every horizon were glorious canyons. They stretched far into the sky and reached many times longer than they were tall. Raymond had to admit it was a beautiful break from everything else he knew: trees and hills and… more hills. The red mountains seemed so foreign to him and he found himself enjoying the scenery as the cart lightly jostled.

“Hey,” Mabel caught the gambler’s attention, and asked, “What’s your name?”

“Raymond Earnest, Miss.”

“I assume you’re  _ his _ apprentice?” she gestured to Luther.

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry you got stuck with him,” she tossed the words into the open air, hardly sympathetic despite her words.

Ray didn’t appreciate her making assumptions. Even though she seemed to have known Luther longer than the gambler had, and even though she probably had a reason to act the way she did, he didn’t like her constant draining attitude. Raymond straightened his back and smiled at the blonde, saying, “I’m not sorry.”

Luther’s cocky smirk turned to a genuine grin, humbly cherishing the small bit of redemption for himself. The gambler didn’t notice the audible, “Ugh,” from Ms. Ackerman. 

Dying to change the subject, she suggested, “How about I tell you about our destination?”

“Shoot for it,” Luther allowed as Raymond scooted closer to him.

“I live in the canyons. The trek up there is going to be horsesh-t. Don’t expect anything less. 

“This is to remind you, Luther, but also to let your friend know: do  _ not _ mention where I live to  _ anyone _ . The people who need to know already know and I certainly don’t want any more visitors to deal with. 

“While you two are staying at my home, there will be rules. You two are grown men, you will be free to do whatever you want, as long as I am informed of it beforehand.”

“C`mon, Mabel,” the blonde interrupted, “You gonna make us let you know every time we’re fetching a meal from your kitchen?”

“No, you cretin,  _ listen _ ,” she barked, “Do what you want on my property, so long as you don’t screw with the livestock and structure. You can fetch what you need, summon your patron, f-ck each other—just, for the love of God, as long as it doesn't affect me directly I don’t care.”

Ray was taken aback by that particular comment.

“But if you want to leave the area—even if only a few feet away from the fence—you  _ have _ to tell me. If you’re going on a walk, let me know the path so I can come to save your sorry asses if you’re gone too long. If you’re heading to Springdale, tell me why, what you’re doing—and so help me if you do anything different than your plans I’ll make sure the authorities  _ never _ find you.”

Raymond felt rather browbeaten while Luther nonchalantly rolled his eyes.

“I have too much at stake to have you two go ruining it.”

“Don’t have any faith in us, no,” the blonde threw his hands up sarcastically. 

“Since when do you, of all people, run on faith?”

All three satanists were quiet after that. For a short moment, anyway, before Mabel adjusted herself in her seat and ordered, “Now… Tell me what it is that you two are in so much trouble about.”

And so, she was told. The news didn’t seem to phase her. 


	15. Mountain Pods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Proverbs 24:3 - 4

The gambler woke himself up upon unconsciously realizing the cart had stopped. His head shot up and tired eyes scanned the dark-blue area. It took a face rub and a mental restart to understand that he was still in the back of the buggy sitting alongside Luther and they had just parked in front of what looked like a mix of a 24-hour bar and a hotel. 

The town itself was very unpopulated. There couldn’t have been many more than a dozen buildings that made up the village, most seeming to be business-family combos. Small, golden lights sparkled in tiny windows, clouded by curtains—just as the moon and stars that night were curtained by clouds. 

The cart shook a bit as the woman at the reins hopped off the side, and the blonde stood next to him. A pale hand came down on the gambler’s head as he shimmied by, jokingly shaking his friend awake before stealing the hat. “C`mon, Ray. Lil` break.”

Raymond sighed contently, standing from his seat, wobbling a bit from the fatigue. He was right behind Luther as he hopped down, following his every move. The blonde had put the bowler on his own head, but Ray hardly cared.

Mabel tied the horses to a post and pulled a large, rolled-up drapery from underneath the coachman’s seat. “Help me with this,” she commanded as she unrolled it. The three of them dragged the covering over the open back of the cart, ensuring everything was hidden—surely in case of thieves—and went for the door.

The building was taller than it was wide, kept together with a mix of wood planks, posts, and white bricks. A large sign hung from underneath the balcony, reading,  _ The Hangover: 24-Hour Bar and Bed _ . The two windows that sat on either side of the door were unable to be seen through because of the curtains, but even then the glow of lamps from within broke through the barrier. Upon entrance, a wave of warmth hit the gambler instantly. To the left was a pretty fireplace, still burning away, pushing a blood-orange glow over the room. Tables neatly lined either wall, gas lamps on every one, lit only if someone was occupying the table. There were only two residents of the building at the time, both taking two different tables; one, a man passed out with this head in his arms, a half-full bottle of alcohol next to him; the other, a woman knitting something of her own. She gave a glance to the three satanists but otherwise minded her own business, her hands never stopping.

The only other soul in the building was a white man behind the bar, back turned to them, sorting drinks and glasses on the multitude of shelves behind him. Upon hearing the clicking of feet, he turned around, showing his slim, middle-aged face. Hair as dark as chocolate sat as a mess on his head, friendly mutton chops complimenting the scattered look. His bright eyes looked the three of them up and down as he greeted, “Hello.” The bartender nodded to Mabel, “Drink or a room, Ms. Ackerman?”

“A room. They’re with me,” she pulled a small wallet from a hardly-noticeable pocket in her dress. 

“Would either of them like a special? Late hours mean rare drinks~” he had this way about him where every word slipped into place perfectly. Raymond eyed him, noticing his halfway-formal clothes. Everything except for his words seemed to be half-assed, and it made the gambler slightly more aware. 

“No, just a bed. Maybe in the morning, they’ll have a cherry bomb,” Mabel answered.

“On the rocks?”

“Yes.”

“Hm,” the man smiled to the two men, a grin on his face. “One, two, or three rooms?”

“One. They can sleep on the floor,” Mabel said, sliding her pay over the bar table. 

The man stole the cash and leaned over to reach under the table. He reappeared with a key in his hand, walking out from behind the bar. “Let me show you to your room.”

Raymond looked to either of the two satanists for any confirmation on what the hell that conversation was, but his buddies didn’t even notice him. They followed behind the bartender as he led them to a stairway off-center to the bar and headed up. The staircase wound in a loop a story tall until reaching the top where it presented a narrow hallway that stretched down to the opposite end of the building. Doors lined the hallway, all shut; Ray counted eight in total. As he walked, the bartender talked. “Mr. Stagmire, it’s been quite a while since I’ve seen you.”

Raymond was entirely confused.

“I thought you forgot about me, with the way you were coding every word,” Luther responded.

“Well, I didn’t know if Ms. Ackerman had a vendetta for you—who knows what types of tricks she’d pull. Didn’t want to ruin any plans of hers.”

“Thank you for your consideracy, Andrew,” Mabel said, “You never fail.”

The gambler was entirely frustrated, not knowing what they knew.

Andrew stopped at the last door down the hall, unlocking it and opening it, handing the key over to Mabel. “We’ll catch up tomorrow morning, hopefully?”

“Maybe you’ll get lucky,” she told the bartender before walking in. 

Luther followed her, shaking hands with Andrew. He paused by the doorframe and introduced the gambler. “Raymond, this is Andrew Brown. He’s a buddy of ours,” and with a smirk, said, “He knows about us.”

The gambler raised his eyebrows and shook hands with Andrew. “Oh. Good to meet you.”

“And you as well!” the bartender said, “I’ll need to be off now, tending to my post. Have a good night, and don’t be bothered to request anything.” With that, the messy man dipped his head and made his way back down the hall. 

Ray gave him one last look before following Luther inside and closing the door behind him. Mabel tossed the key his way without warning, hitting the gambler in the chest before he sloppily caught it. He got the message and locked the door. 

Turning to the room, he realized it’s size: tiny. Everything was crammed together—a small bed in the left corner, a nightstand with a lamp just next to it, a closed and curtained window in the middle of the far wall, and the tiniest desk paired with a chair in the corner opposite to the bed. It was certainly cozy. In fact, Raymond found charm in it. Nothing looked damaged or uncared for, and, while cramped, it was homey. 

“So…” he started, “What the hell was that `bout?”

“That’s Mabel’s inside guy,” the blonde said, “They’ve been pretty close for a while.”

“He’s a satanist?” Ray asked.

“No, not at all,” Mabel said, taking a seat on the bed, “I don’t know what he follows, but I know it’s nothing like that.”

“What’s he do, then?” 

Luther explained, “He sniffs out any tourists that might be up to trouble. This is a small village where everybody knows each other, and they have it hard enough as it is. Don’t need anyone screwing it over for them.”

Mabel nodded. “Strangers come in and out of this place; whether for the springs, the view, or the nearby cities. Since he’s the only place for tourists, he hears it all. He’s had to deal with all sorts of sh-t because of scummy people. And then I came along.”

Raymond raised a brow. “Wouldn’t he think…  _ we’re _ bad people?”

“He did,” Luther shrugged, “But luckily our girl has a way with words~” he grinned at the dark-haired woman.

She frowned, ignoring him otherwise. “I set up in the mountains, and he snuffed me out. We made an arrangement, though: if he sent me the  _ sh-tty _ people that came through this town, I’d leave  _ his _ people alone. And it worked.”

“Just like that?”

“You don’t know Andy as much as we do,” Luther said, “He  _ hates _ degenerates. F-cking  _ despises  _ anyone who so much as looks at his family wrong. He’s a fantastic guy, just has a wicked love for revenge. Wouldn’t hurt a fly, but would hate you with vigor. And well,” he shrugged, “With his attitude and Mabel’s lack of morals, they’re the perfect duo. Any friend of Mabel’s is a friend of his.”

That certainty explained their relationship. But, “What `bout that conversation? With the drinks? And why did he not know Luther at first? What was all that actin`?”

“Code,” the blonde said, “I forgot what they meant exactly…”

Mable explained, “Anytime I come in with someone, I always give a code to let Andrew know the status of the person. Four things to know, both of you should take note, just in case. Two different drinks—cherry bomb and vodka. A cherry bomb means that the person is safe, vodka means that he shouldn’t trust the person. With ice—on the rocks—means that I’m certain about my decision. Without ice, it means that the situation could change.”

Raymond compared that to their situation. Cherry bomb on the rocks: they were safe and she was sure of it. “Okay… Makes sense enough.”

“And the acting; Andrew’s known Luther for years,” Mable said, “But there have been situations where I have a friend at first, and an enemy later—especially after a long period of time. He was just making sure that this bastard was still safe.”

Ray frowned, thinking. “What if… you two weren’t on good terms no more? He would have known the code and known what you were plottin`, right?”

“I mean, I  _ did _ forget,” Luther shrugged.

“But not everyone forgets,” the dark-haired woman intervened, “That’s when I rely on my own sources. If I ever tell someone about that code, I doubt I’d try to use it in front of them to screw them over. And I wouldn’t bother Andrew unless he needed to know about it.”

The gambler paused. “So you purposely lead guys into here to… do what?”

“Knock them out. Andrew will give them a drugged drink, usually. Spike it. Maybe poison it, if I give him the go-ahead. Then, I take them to my base and take care of it from there,” Mable explained, “All in the dead of night, of course, so no one notices their leave. No one here other than Andrew suspects I’m anything more than a prostitute—which is entirely fine for me. I know what I am, and whatever wrong labels they put on me just helps my situation.”

Raymond nodded, and a silence subtly engulfed the room.

“Enough questions?” Mabel asked.

“For tonight, I s’pose,” the gambler said, stepping over to Luther.

“Good. Go to bed. I’ll wake you up in the morning.”

The blonde pushed himself against Ray as Ms. Ackerman situated herself in her bed. “What, we don’t get a blanket? A pillow, even?” Luther said through a grin.

The dark-haired woman took one of the two pillows from the bed and carelessly tossed it over to the blonde, who caught it. Then, she blew the lamp out, and slipped herself under the covers, facing the wall.

Raymond sighed through his nose as Luther turned to him. “Guess we’re sharing~”

The gambler smiled and shook his head jokingly. 

Luther took off Ray’s hat and set it on the bedside table. He then took both of his hands and ran his fingers through the gambler’s hair, earning a lovely grin and arms wrapped around his torso.

They put themselves on the floor near the opposite wall and attempted to get comfy. There were multiple failed attempts. At first, the two of them tried to share the pillow while facing each other, but they ended up too close and breathing on each other. This brought stupid grins and shimmying backward—only to have their heads fall off the pillow. Ray tried to put his back to Luther’s chest, but there wasn’t enough room for both bodies. They attempted the other way, with Luther’s back to Ray’s chest. At that point, the gambler wasn’t too afraid to wrap his arms around the blonde. However, the hard floor left the one arm numb, and he turned onto his back. Luther did the same, and they spent a long while trying to situate themselves.

Finally, finally, after what felt like forever and after Mabel had fallen fast asleep, they figured it out. Raymond laid on his back and his head occupied the pillow, while Luther’s head occupied Ray’s chest. They slept crooked and sprawled out, but it was the most comfortable thing to do. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


The dark-haired woman woke the other two up before the sun had risen. Its pink glow was blushing over the horizon, casting blurry shadows with its shy light. There weren’t many words said or extra actions committed—save a few of Luther’s innocent kisses to Raymond’s head—before they left the room and went downstairs.

The main floor was void of any customers, and Andrew was left behind the bar, stacking glasses in the quiet. Mabel told the boys that she was going to check on the cart to ensure everything was in place, and while she did that they could talk up a storm. She walked out as the satanists sat at the bar.

“Quite the build you got,” Raymond commented. Andrew had stacked over two dozen glasses into a pyramid and it worried the hell out of Ray. One tap and the entire thing could go crashing down.

“Lots of years, lots of quiet hours,” the bartender said, keeping his voice quiet for the other sleeping residents upstairs, “Lots of time to perfect it. I can make way better stuff than this, trust me.”

“You stay here all night, sir?” Ray asked.

“I go from 10 at night to 6 in the morning. Sleep during the day. My wife, brother, and kids take care of the place then.”

“Big family?”

“Hell yeah. Six kids, all girls. Two brothers, two sisters—all of them but one of the boys out of town. Lots of in-laws. Lots of aunts and uncles. Grandparents… Greater generations…” he sighed contentedly, “You?”

“I got one mom and one sister,” Ray chuckled, “Plus this guy,” he gestured to Luther.

“Lucky duck, you are,” Andy told him. 

“S’pose.”

The bartender looked up at the blonde, wanting to spark a new conversation. “Haven’t seen you since you left for that overseas journey. You’ve hardly changed.”

The satanist smiled. “Perfection usually doesn’t,” he teased, shrugging. 

Andrew chuckled. “How was your trip? If you can tell me anything.”

“Eh, it was alright,” Luther shrugged. “Besides the training, it's a pretty place. Lots of art.”

“You get hurt?”

“Nothing I can remember.”

“Well, that’s as good as anything,” Andrew began removing the glasses from top to bottom, one by one. “How’d you get wrapped into his mess, son?” he asked Raymond.

“He asked,” the gambler said, attempting to avoid details.

“Ah, that’s all that you gotta do to get in? Sh-t, Stag. You’ve been leading me on.”

Luther chuckled.

Andrew asked, “What was your name again, son?”

“Raymond Earnest.”

“Middle name?”

The gambler smiled sheepishly, “...Abraham.”

“Abe!”

“No no no,” Ray laughed, “Please, you don’t have to call me anything fancy.”

“I do too. That’s how I protect identities around here. Around me, you’re Abe.”

Raymond looked over at Luther, who was chuckling to himself. “What’s his name, then?” the gambler asked.

“Stag!”

“ _ Stag? _ But that’s part of his last name!”

“Abraham is such a cute name~” Luther chimed, receiving a playful punch. 

“You ain’t callin` me anythin` shy of my first name.”

“Whatever you say,” the blonde shrugged, looking over at the bartender. “Thanks. Now I don’t have to exchange my middle name for his~”

Ray shook his head with squinted eyes and a glaring smirk. “You’re a casualty.”

Right around then, Mable returned. “Alright, we’re all set,” she said from the door, “Let’s get going. We’ve still got a good four hours before the base.”

“You need any supplies, Ms. Ackerman?” Andrew asked while the satanists left their stools.

“I already visited once this week, I should be fine until the next.” All three satanists were close to the door. “See you in a bit, Andrew.”

“Safe travels, Mabel,” the bartender waved, “Good seeing you three.”

The gambler gave a small wave before following the other two out the door.

When they settled themselves to their respective seats in the cart, Raymond took his time to admire the scenery. The same buildings once shrouded in blue shadows were now being painted in a peach-colored light. Ray noticed the giant, towering, mountain-like canyons that surrounded the town, shielding the tiny village like a wall. 

They trekked up those very canyons, the journey full of turns, narrow pathways, and long drops if the horses misstepped. It made the gambler nauseous—the feeling only reminding him that he hadn’t eaten for a day now. 

Trying to sleep away the hunger and sickness was no use, the cart was entirely too bumpy and the horses all-too-loud as they whinnied and stomped their way up the slender slopes. 

A third of the day passed. The brilliant, golden sun appeared for a mere moment before thin, grey clouds swept in and masked it, the cold accompanying them. Frigid and uncomfortable, they all sat through it. 

When, at last, they made it to the base, Mabel announced it. The gambler’s head shot up and saw the embodiment of satisfaction. After crossing a shaky bridge, the cart found safety on solid ground between two tall rocks at the base of the mountains. It was like an open gate to a flat clearing in the canyons, and in that clearing were several, well-built structures. Wooden huts, varying in width, height, shape, and space. They all connected via enclosed tunnels or hanging bridges, branching like tree limbs from the center mass: a large building, looking surprisingly welcoming despite its underlings guarding it. Stones and cement supported the corners and base of the building, curtained windows hardly serving a purpose with canyon walls enclosing the entire clearing. It was alien-like, seeing these little wooden pods that held who-knows-what for Mabel, all connecting to the giant host. 

The huts covered a third of the large clearing, leaving the rest for the other two prominent structures. Close to the huts, there were other small structures and little moving things—Ray realized they were pigs and chickens! It pushed a wave of nostalgia over him, remembering the livestock his hometown kept track of, such as pigs and chickens, but also cows and sheep and donkeys. The livestock was kept within a chain-link fence, picking at the ground for any scraps they may have dropped from their food troughs. 

The last notable structures compiled into a single entity were large pools, as blue as the sky on a summer day, steam rising from the natural and asymmetrical basins. The rims of the pools were bright red and wettened, the water moving ever-so-slightly, occasionally dripping off the sides of their canyon-ground bowls. Raymond’s eyes were drawn to and stuck on the beautiful colors, soaking it in even as the cart rode right past them.

Mabel led the cart near the animal pens, stopping close to one of the gates. She hopped out and told the two, “Okay, start opening crates and throwing bags.”

Luther and Raymond hopped up, giving each other a quick look, and each found their own crates. They popped the lids open quite easily, seeing as they were only hinged and not nailed down, and found bags of feed stacked one on top of the other. Ray picked up a hefty bag of corn, tossing off the side of the cart.

Mabel was on the opposite end. “This side, please.”

“Yup,” Ray noted as the dark-haired woman fetched the stray bag.

The two satanists had thrown a few sacks off the cart when Mabel told one of them to come down and help her. Luther allowed Ray to go, and he did. Mabel unlocked the gate and opened it up, not worrying about the animals as they seemed well-behaved. They carried bags of corn and corn and… more corn. All the bags were corn.

She led the way to the very back of the enclosure, placing her bag under one of the many overhangs that provided the animals with minimal shelter. Raymond stacked his bags on top of hers and followed her out. Along the way, a few chickens and a couple of pigs tailed him, snorting and singing in their ugly ways. Ray stopped to pat one of the pigs on the head, then went back to his business.

The cycle continued: Luther threw the bags, Mabel and Raymond took them and stored them, and went back for more bags. Even in the cold of winter, the three of them were working up to a sweat. Everything happened as it did until Luther emptied all the bags and there were five left on the ground. 

“Start filling up troughs,” the dark-haired woman ordered.

The blonde jumped off the cart and each of them carried the bags into the enclosure, ripping the seals open and dispersing the feed amongst the lined-up troughs. Animals came scrambling—a pig having nearly knocked over Raymond as he handled the sack.

When they completed that task, they were told to toss the empty bags in the back of the cart. Then, the two men were asked to collect eggs while she emptied out the rest of what was in the cart. She told them there were baskets in the henhouse and she’d be back by the time they were done.

There must have been a dozen pigs and twice that many birds. As Mabel rode off, the two satanists went to the henhouse—the last of the structures within the pen. 

“We’re here for five minutes and she’s already got us doing work,” Luther commented.

“It’s kinda fun,” Ray shrugged, unlatching and opening the door, “I `bout tripped over a pig.”

The blonde scrunched up his nose as the door was opened, but it also served as a response to Ray’s comment. “Don’t want to fall out here. Nothing but sh-t in this pen.”

The henhouse certainly smelled like chickens—strong and unpleasant. The gambler was familiar and minded it as much as he should have, stepping in as the chickens voiced their own language. Shelves of hay-made beds hung in rows on the wall, little ramps leading to each level. Hanging on the wall to his left were four baskets, two of which he grabbed. “You ain’t got any animals up north, right?”

“Well, yes, actually,” Luther followed his steps, taking the baskets, “But I didn’t mess with them.”

“Why? Were they wild?” Raymond assumed as he started down one of the rows. 

“No, it was all livestock,” the blonde was reluctant to start grabbing eggs, “I’m just not a big animal guy.”

It was impossible for Ray not to remember the time Luther shoved the dog down the ladder. He sighed, “Yeah.” 

They plucked eggs from empty and full beds until the blonde yelped, “Bitch!”

Ray turned around, chuckling, able to guess what happened. “Get pecked?”

“ _ Yes _ ,” Luther said, almost sheepish now.

The gambler stepped over to the bed Luther attempted to pull eggs from, and the hen guarded her treasure. She puffed her feathers up and shouted a repeated, prolonged squawk. Ray pulled on his partner’s sleeve, dragging him away. “Just let her go for now, act like you’re not doing anything with her,” the gambler collected eggs in the neighboring beds, and the hen quieted. “Then, when she stops,” he reached over, and quickly slipped his hand under warm feathers, pulling back to reveal a white prize. “Just grab it.”

Luther frowned. “Quit boasting on me, cowboy,” he teased.

“ _ Ain’t no cowboy _ ,” Ray joked.

The blonde grinned and did his best to continue pulling eggs. Once done, they made their way out the door with baskets on either arm. Mabel was leading the horses into the enclosure and met up with the other two, leading them to the housing system. 

All the pods were raised from the ground a few feet by stone and wooden bases, stairs leading into the outermost pods. Mabel directed both of them into one of these pods. Upon entry, it was vaguely cold and dark with small candles on shelves, unlit. Other than that and a few ornaments, the room was rather empty. Mabel tilted her head upward at the candles and they came to life. She carried on through another door and into a narrow hallway.

“Who built all this?” Raymond asked. 

“Various demons. Various patrons,” she answered.

“You’ve had more than one patron?”

“Anyone can,” Luther chimed, “If you ever want to make more deals or different propositions, you get another patron or a new patron.”

“Just… like that?”

“Well, you might get some backlash from your last patron,” Mabel said, “Which is why you either make sure they’re fine with sharing followers, or you completed your deal with them.”

“Never want to make a demon mad,” Luther said.

“...Right,” Ray responded. They entered another hut, this one looking practically the same, just with more books on the shelves. They passed through.

“I doubt we’ll change patrons for a while,” the blonde offered, “Beata’s basically set.”

“Still with her, huh?” Mabel queried.

“Haven’t had any setbacks. She’s a bitch but she’s good for our mark.”

“How much trouble has she been for you?”

“Hardly any, except her usual mouth-running.”

It was obvious that Raymond was the outsider in that conversation. He didn’t mind much; that’s just how it is when you’re new. 

“Who’s your patron now, Mabel?” Luther asked.

“No one right now. I just call a few little demons for my work.”

“That’s risky. Just wait until one of them escapes and you won’t have anyone to fetch them.”

Ms. Ackerman shook her head. “Even  _ if  _ they escape, I won’t have anyone to yell at me.”

Luther smirked, showing his teeth. “That’s one way to go about it.”

They passed through hut after hut, each room becoming more and more decorated and cluttered with items. Books, incense, strange tools, odd designs, desks, chairs, candles, chests, gemstones, valuables—the closer they got to the main house, the more unique and valuable things became. “What’s all the stuff for?” Ray asked.

“Possessions.”

“All of it?”

“Well, my entire lifestyle centers around possessions; so, yes.”

The gambler frowned. “Can you… give me specifics?”

“A lot of it is just to distract demons if they ever refuse to possess the individual I offer. Shiny, human things that they just can’t acquire in Hell. Usually, they’ll try to steal them, and it just gives me more time to catch up with them.”

“How do you catch a demon?”

“You don’t catch them, you banish them. Holy water works.”

“Or other demons,” Luther chimed. 

“I’d rather not fight fire with fire when I can.”

“What happens if they escape?” Raymond asked.

“They go for the closest and weakest body they can. Staying visible in the open just makes them easy targets for angels.”

“...What?” Ray tilted his head, “Angels?”

Luther smiled at him, “We’ll show you sometime.”

“ _ Show me? _ ”

“It’s easier to explain when you can see it in action,” Mabel said, “I’ll tell you more about taking care of demons when that time comes.”

Raymond hadn’t even realized that the last of the huts suddenly got very big, and the door at the end of the hallway was quite intricate and grand. Ms. Ackerman opened it, and immediately Ray knew that they were at the main house. It was dark but soon lighting up with unmelting candles coming to life. The room they entered appeared to be a large kitchen, complete with everything a kitchen would need and so much more. The gambler took in the scene, feeling comfortable amongst the red-hued wood and homey setting. A large table sat in the center of it all, a clear vase with what looked like water placed in the middle of the furnishing. There was plenty of room around the table, even with half of it being surrounded by the countertops backed up to the wall. Amongst the space of the counters were two sinks, a large oven, and even a commercial-grade-refrigerator. 

“Big family?” Raymond guessed.

“Oh, not at all. I live alone,” Mabel corrected, “It’s just that, sometimes, demons get hungry.”

“I’m confused,” Raymond admitted, “Is this place a sanctuary or a prison for demons?”

“Both and neither,” the dark-haired woman said, “For when I make deals with them, it’s paradise. They have everything they need, all protected from the outside. If demons don’t cooperate, though, all of this is just one big snare, making it harder for them to leave.”

“I don’t get the point of fancy-livin`, though.”

“Dead or alive, a person’s heart is through their stomach. Lots of times, I can reason with demons by giving them food—especially if they’re weaker.”

Raymond remembered being told how weaker demons needed to eat to survive, even in Hell. He supposed Mabel’s logic made a bit of sense.

“And speaking of eating, I’m sure you’re hungry,” Ms. Ackerman said, standing by the table. “Help me make something for the three of us, then I’ll show you around the house. And I’m sure you want to contact your patron pretty soon, no?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ran out of cool chapter titles in chapter 3, sorry


	16. Boars, Bugs, and Bites

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Psalm 23:4

Mabel had a surplus of fruits and vegetables for the three of them to enjoy, along with firing up some of the eggs they’d fetched. After storing what else they’d gotten from the animal pens and making up a small meal very quickly, Raymond and Luther were allowed to roam the house and other huts while she prepared a pig for an offering. 

The two satanists, left to their own devices, started wandering together. From the kitchen, there were two ways to go, left or right, and they were told it would loop. They went left, into the living area. Dark, wood floors decorated with carpets and rugs stretched from the front to the back of the house. A fireplace sat off to the right, against the kitchen wall, unlit. There was plenty of dark, leather furniture to find a seat in—chairs and a couch and a few benches beneath the windows. Small chandeliers hung from the ceiling, lightless until Luther walked beneath them. 

“She sure does live comfy,” Raymond commented. 

“That she does,” Luther said, “You and I got lucky with this one.”

“She won’t keep us forever.”

“Of course not, of course not. But once this whole thing blows over…” Luther plopped down on the couch, “You and I can settle down. Maybe grab a few demons to make us up a place like that?”

Ray may have taken the implication too far, but he couldn’t help but think of what the blonde meant by  _ settling down _ . He grinned, clasping his hands behind him. “You really think…?”

Luther seemed to know exactly what Raymond was pondering. He smiled and held his hands out, the gambler meeting him at the couch and pulling him up. “I really  _ know _ ,” he corrected and pecked the gambler’s lips, making Ray’s face go hot. He wasn’t quite used to it, yet. “Just gotta get out of this rut.”

Raymond was smiling ear-to-ear, holding hands with his partner against their collarbones. Luther placed a kiss on Ray’s cheek before pulling away with their hands still stuck together. “C’mon… We can daydream later.”

The gambler, happy, followed the blonde.

At the back of the house was a grand library. Bookcases as tall as the ceiling stood high above the two satanists, texts in every color lining the shelves. The smell of paper was heavy in here, and ink as well. A couple of chairs and a table between them were the only other furniture in the room. 

Luther led Raymond to the back wall, letting go of his hand. “Now, if I remember correctly…” he scanned the midline bookcases, feeling their edges and walls with careful hands. “There should be… There!” 

Ray caught a glimpse of a handle hidden within one of the cases before the blonde started pulling. The case twisted as he did, opening smoothly like a door, unveiling a secret tunnel. It led downward, candle sconces along the walls, the stairs descending into impossible darkness. “That’s where the basement is, clearly,” Luther said, pushing the case closed, “She’s got a huge summoning room down there. Bigger than the entire base back at Vegas.”

Raymond was impressed, sure, but not exactly excited. He expected to be more comfortable with all of this, but it felt like he was getting slapped in the face with more and more things he didn’t quite understand. He was hoping Luther would be experiencing this for the first time like the gambler was, but it was obvious that his partner had already been through all of it. “Luther?” he began, “How long have you known the miss for?”

“Years. What, I went to Greece three years ago? I knew her… a while before then… I think…” he raised his eyebrows, surprised with himself, “Seven years!”

“Oh!” Raymond didn’t expect that. “How old is she?”

“I think she’d be 29 this year.”

“Did she introduce you to satanism?”

“No, not that. She  _ did _ help me settle down with it, though. I left home… a few years before that… already set…” he was gnawing at his brain, tearing it apart to remember the dates. “Jeez, it’s been a while. I was wild when I met her, and she showed me how to behave if I wanted to get anywhere successful.”

“Oh. You reckon she’s been in the swing of things longer than you have?”

“Actually, roughly the same amount of experience I’ve had.”

“Okay.” They continued the loop into the next room. “So, did she have all this when you first met?”

“She had the big house, and was working on the huts when I left.”

The next room was very narrow, appearing to be nothing more than a show-off room. Paintings of people and landscapes—Raymond recognized the Statue of Liberty and Abe Lincoln in a few of those paintings, alongside beautifully characterized mountainous regions, flower fields, and even portraits of angels and saints. Tapestries with complex and colorful designs or imagery of maps hung alongside those paintings. Ray directed himself to the wall beneath one of those maps—a map of the world, specifically—and tried to remember where he was. He was familiar with how to navigate being that he’d spent a lot of his time as of late traveling, even if it was on the run. He traced an invisible line from where he thought his hometown was, to roughly where Vegas sat, to St. George, and then to here. Such a long way was undermined by the small space of the map. He looked across the Atlantic Ocean at the plethora of other countries he didn’t know the names for. 

Luther came up next to him. Raymond asked, “Where’s Greece?”

The tapestry hung over their heads so Luther had to stretch as far as he could to point to the location. Above the huge continent of Africa, in the midst of a tiny sea cluttered with many more landforms; the blonde pointed to a piece of land that was Greece. The gambler, again, traced with his eyes the possible path taken from America to Greece, the journey unimaginable to him. “All that way…?”

“It was rough going across the Atlantic,” Luther sighed, “But once that was over with, and I was on land, it was easy-riding.”

“Did you take a boat by yourself?”

“No way. I wouldn’t know how to navigate.”

Ray looked over with a smile. “Get seasick?”

“For the first week, hell yeah. Everyone did,” he shrugged, “But I got over it.”

The gambler peered up at the map for a moment more, wondering what trials that journey must have consisted of. He didn’t dwell on the thoughts for long, though, as he turned his body and shifted his gaze to the rest of the room. At the far end was an opening into the kitchen, and placed against the outside wall was a staircase leading up. Luther joined him as they made their way over and ascended the flight.

“These should be the bedrooms,” the blonde commented.

The satanists reached the top. A small lounging area with a bench, a desk, and a painting of the solar system as society knew it perfectly angled around a large window. Looking out the window would show the branching pods, animal pens, and hot springs. Raymond couldn’t see over the walls of the canyon. 

Stretching further along was a spacious hallway, windows lining down one wall, doors down the other. “The entire floor’s for bedrooms?” Ray asked.

“No,” Luther said, leading on. He tried the knob on the first door he came upon, and it opened. He peered inside, then let Ray have a look. “This is Mabel’s room.”

It appeared to be a regular bedroom. Spacious and clean with decorations and furniture to suit a person’s needs. The blonde shut the door, then went on to the next. He opened and checked each one, telling the gambler what each was while also appearing to refresh his own memory. “Office…” a dark place with a large desk, papers and books either stacked or filed away, plenty of quills, and a few decorations. “Restroom…” complete with a bath, shower, sink, toilet, cabinet, and tiled floor. “Storage…” a smaller room with numerous boots and coats hanging, as well as chests filled with miscellaneous items. “And… what’s gonna be our room!”

The last door opened to another dark room, set with a large bed, two desks and chairs, a nightstand, multiple empty shelves, a dresser, and unlit lamps on most of the standing surfaces. They walked in, without confirmation that this was indeed their room but with high confidence that they were correct. The area looked untouched and slightly dusty, but still in generally good condition. The bed seemed big enough to fit both of them comfortably and the spaciousness of the room was to their liking. 

“We’ll need to bring our bags up here,” Luther suggested, upon which Raymond remembered leaving them on the dining table in the kitchen. “Wanna run back down? Not much to do up here.”

“Sure,” Ray agreed. They headed down.

Into the kitchen they went but were only able to grab their things before Mabel walked through the front, dusting herself off. “Hog’s ready,” she said, “Whenever you two want to head down.”

The blonde looked over at the gambler, and the gambler at the blonde. Luther had a slight smirk about him, while Ray was emotionally flat. “Yeah. Let’s get to it.”

“Perfect,” the dark-haired woman said, leading the party.

Raymond spoke to Luther as they walked. “What do we tell her?”

“Beata? We tell her what happened.”

“Will she care, though?”

“...Probably not.”

“Why summon her, then? Ain’t that just gonna seem like a waste of time to her?”

“Don’t worry, don’t worry. We’ll get something out of her, too,” Luther assured, “Something for you.”

_ Another ability _ , Raymond thought to himself. 

The smell of paper was strong once again as they entered the library. Mabel went straight to the bookcase at the back of the room—the same one Luther had found—and pulled it open via its hidden handle. The same dark staircase down was shown, and she took the first steps down. “Shut that on the way in, will you?”

Luther was the last to enter the darkness and so pulled the case shut. As Ms. Ackerman lightly paced down stone stairs the candles in the wall sconces lit up, making the trip down a little less nerve-racking. The stairwell twisted around the opposite way not too far down, descending only further. And as the levels dropped, so did the temperature. The gambler adjusted his coat to allow the collar to cover as much of the back of his neck as it could, hairs standing on end from the chill.

Once the turn was made, the bottom of the stairs could be seen. Arriving at the bottom, candles in the remaining room came to life in a masterpiece of colors. The sheer scale of the room was unveiled as each of the candles that lined the walls and hung from the tiniest of chandeliers burned softly. The entire base was made of stone and covered a grand span of what had to be the entire house and more. Long wooden tables, cupboards, shelves, bookcases, and chests lined every inch of the walls, leaving no space between them. Each was packed to the brim with all sorts of things: books, journals, herbs, flowers, animal skins, bones, leather wrappings, embalming tools and kits, feathers, spices, quills, papers, braids—and a prodigious collection of other items. Braids of all kinds hung from the ceiling, some even long enough to touch the floor, and in the center of it all was a colossal pentagram made entirely of standing, lit candles. Around the room, the candles changed in colors based on their locations. Along the wall, furthest from the pentagram, the flames were their natural golden colors. The closer they got to the center, the paler they became, until they were a bright white. But right at the center—either hanging directly above or part of the pentagram itself—the flames were pure red. 

Walking closer to the shape on the floor, the gambler took note of its size. If he were to lay in it, sprawled out and all, he would only cover roughly a fourth of it. It was entirely massive with multiple layers to it—multiple rings, lines, stars, and symbols within one giant structure. It was clearly the perfect size for summoning a multitude of demons at once, which is what Mabel had constantly hinted at doing. He wondered what must have happened when it was activated and dozens of Hell-crawlers burst from its gate.

Raymond realized their own underground base back at Vegas was a joke compared to all of this. He found himself in awe, even with the morbid undertones, taking it all in. Every cold breath felt more engrossing than the last, and he didn’t want to leave until they summoned a demon.

“Change of pace, isn’t it, Ray?” Luther rubbed shoulders with him.

“Goddamn huge,” the gambler commented, his voice echoing in the chamber.

Mabel walked to the left wall while the other two approached the pentagram. Raymond circled it and the blonde watched, amused by his partner’s amazement. The gambler was wide-eyed and wonderstruck, trying to wrap his mind around the capabilities. He hardly knew how to summon a demon, but he could be aware of the scale of it all. 

A few clunking noises could be heard over where the dark-haired woman was. Looking her way, the satanists saw that she was wheeling a wooden cart over—appearing to belong in a mine rather than this base—its wheels attached to rails on the floor. It was nearly as big as her, wheels squeaking as it moved. Ray’s eyes followed the railing clear from the wall to the pentagram—Mabel about halfway over. The spot where the cart started had a square hole above it in the wall, dark stains running down the wall from it. Curious, Raymond asked, “...What’s the cart for, miss?”

Ms. Ackerman wheeled it over, the cart coming to a sudden halt. “Pig’s in it,” she pushed upward on the side of mine trolly, the wheels staying attached to the rails but the body tipping at an angle. What came slowly sliding out was the corpse of a large, fat hog, throat opened up but not in a way that would bleed the pig dry, just enough to kill it. Its head slapped onto the stone floor, candles receding as it did, while its haunches stayed in the cart. Luther took the swine by its front legs and dragged it out to the middle of the pentagram whilst Mabel talked, “There’s a chute that runs from the pens to that wall over there,” she pointed to the stained hole, “Makes transport easier.” She pulled the cart down and wheeled it back to the wall. 

Ray turned his nose up at the pig carcass, not particularly liking the look or the smell, but with everything he’d already gone through this was hardly something to be perturbed over. 

“Which one of you is summoning her?” Mabel asked.

Luther gave a look to the gambler, smiling. “You wanna try it~?”

Raymond sort of laughed, “You think I’ll mess it up?”

“Even if you do, not a lot will happen,” the blonde elbowed him, then proceeded to dig through his satchel. “You need the words,” he said, “Don’t have to really know what they mean, just gotta pronounce them right.” 

“You got the Beata book? I thought we left it back at…” he winced at the memories, “...the house in Vegas?”

“I’ve got a few books about her. Besides, it’s  _ mine _ we need. I wrote the words,” he pulled a small journal from his satchel, opening it up and flipping through the pages.

“You make the summonin` words?”

“No, I just jotted them down,” he stopped on a page and handed the book over to his partner. On the left page in deep black granite, written in that neat style of Luther’s, were strings of words in Greek, which surprised Raymond. Each time he’d heard Luther summon Beata, he always assumed it was gibberish. He supposed he wasn’t an expert at the language, and only knew how to read it rather than understand when it was spoken, so it didn’t faze him too much. To the right was a sketchy but rather accurate and realistic depiction of Beata’s face and overall form. Raymond noticed that the sketch had been drawn over a few times—at one point it appeared the patron was depicted with legs, but then it was drawn to wrap them up; extra arms seemed to be added; even the antennae upon her head looked newer than the rest. 

Raymond looked up, “So you sing  _ and _ doodle?”

Luther shrugged with a grin, “I’m artsy.” He peered over the gambler’s shoulder and pointed along the lines of words, “Can you read that?”

What read on the paper was a block of Greek text, upon which Raymond recognized.

**_Χα, νομίζεις ότι γνωρίζω πραγματικά κάποια λόγια κλήσης δαίμονα;_ **

**_Γιατί νομίζετε ότι περίμενα δεκαέξι κεφάλαια για να το κάνω αυτό;_ **

**_Αν τυχαίνει να το βάλετε στη Μετάφραση ή απλά να γνωρίσετε Ελληνικά, συγχαρητήρια,_ **

**_Έχετε εξαπατηθεί. Συγγνώμη για τη διακοπή της εμβάπτισης._ **

**_Αυτή η μετάφραση είναι ακατάστατη._ **

The gambler could most certainly read it but wasn’t sure if he’d be able to speak it. Everything sounded right in his head, but he’d never actually spoken the language before—like he thought earlier, he only had a smattering of the language. “Can I… try it first and see if I’m sayin` it right? Or will that accidentally…”

Luther chuckled, “No, you won’t accidentally spawn a demon if you say it wrong,” he assured, “But go ahead and try it.”

They did a little practicing and, after a few attempts, Raymond had spoken accurately. Mabel stood by, awaiting instruction, as this wasn’t her patron. “How does she like her offerings prepared?”

“Simply,” the blonde answered, “As long as it’s dead, it’s usually fine.”

“Hm. Well, do you need anything, then?” 

“A knife, will you?”

Raymond remembered having to split his palm and frowned at the thought. However, his distaste quickly became overrun with nervousness, wondering exactly how to go about the summoning. Would he be told? Was he expected to know how? And if he messed up, then what? He clutched onto the journal, attempting to remove from his mind the possibilities of what could go wrong. What  _ could _ go wrong? Calling the wrong demon? Someone getting hurt?

A kind hand gently laid itself upon the gambler’s back, making him snap out of his trance. He saw Luther next to him, smiling, a comforting gaze upon his face. Raymond smiled back, taking a breath.

The gambler’s worries weren’t without support. Once Mabel fetched a bland-looking dagger, the blonde instructed his partner. “Go ahead and cut your hand. We’ll get the easy part over with.”

Raymond tucked the journal under his arm and took the dagger. He frowned down at the knife, grabbing it with his left hand and slitting his palm. The feeling was all-too-familiar, sharp and burning, the pulse of his veins increasing the pain. He stepped forward and let crimson blood drop onto the pig, bulbous and grey. The animal’s eyes appeared to be looking back at the gambler while its belly was stained with wine-colored splotches.

Mabel and Luther were both standing outside of the pentagram, away from each other. The blonde beckoned Raymond back. “This will be the hard part,” Luther said quietly, “You gotta show off a power of yours and hold it while you read.”

Raymond lit up, thinking it wouldn’t be so hard as his partner warned. He could just turn into a crow! Ah, wait… He couldn’t talk as a crow. 

“How about the hand thing? Isn’t that your newest one?” the blonde offered upon seeing Ray lost in thought.

That would work  _ if _ he could pull it off. “I can try,” he shrugged, “But I haven’t done that since Vegas.”

“Try it out right now, see if you can do it.” There was no hint of urgency in Luther’s voice. 

Raymond handed the knife to his partner and quickly mended the wound on his hand to relieve the pain so he could focus. He wasn’t entirely sure how to go about it—the last time he used the power, it was purely out of instinct. The gambler concentrated, trying to remember what the hands looked like, but all he could recall were blurry silhouettes—the terrifyingly sadistic faces of Harris & Co. the only things appearing clear to him. 

He slowly blinked, wiping those memories from his mind. He looked down at his own hand, barely studying the anatomy, before trying again. “Try” seemed like such an overstatement because he was doing  _ nothing _ to accomplish the task. Ray began to get antsy at how long it was taking for him to do it. If the hands of demons could just reach up and—

Rising from the cracks of stone or creating new fissures as they erupted, hands of all shapes and sizes burst from the floor just a yard or two away from the gambler. He jumped, startled by his own success, but became increasingly excited as he watched the hands. There were at least a dozen, the smallest no bigger than a child’s hand, the largest probably able to wrap around the entirety of Raymond’s head. All different colors and consistencies came with them, too. Some were organic, some appeared transparent and able to be passed through, some were past their life’s due date, some were composed of the strangest behaving smoke, some were made of entirely different material like living wood, and more peculiar things. Most were armed with dagger-like claws or some form of fingernail. A few stayed erect, swaying slightly with palms open as if waiting for their prey to fall into their grasps, while others writhed and swatted, scratching at the ground or fighting with each other. 

Raymond looked back at the blonde, who was smiling and nodding. Ray managed to push the hands back below the surface, upon which the cracks in the stone reconnected and disappeared. He brought the hands closer to him and around part of the pentagram, Luther and Mabel hopping back and away from the new set of grabbers. 

Ray took the journal and looked down at the page. All he had to do was read. Keep the hands and read. 

He began without realizing it. He could suddenly hear the blood rushing through his head, paired with the skittering of nails on the floor, but right in his mind instead of all around him. He couldn’t even hear himself speak but felt his lips move and sensed the vibrations in his throat as the waves of sound entered open air. He wasn’t sure what was happening, but he felt no need to stop. Just lines on a paper, just read them aloud, and it would all be over with…

Raymond wasn’t reading the text so much as he was speaking it. He didn’t know what he was saying or what these words were. He recognized them but didn’t comprehend them. It was… He was… out of touch.

Before he knew it, it was all over. His mouth was left open and agape, a dry tongue to be the only evidence that he’d been relaying words of any kind. He could feel the hands leave without even looking to confirm if they were still there. The candles of the pentagram went out, a thousand lines of thin, white smoke carrying themselves into the air.

Raymond swiveled his head slowly, looking around. Did… Did he do something wrong? Why was nothing happening?

He took a step back, and when his foot landed, the candles burst to life. They shot red flames straight from their wicks and into the ceiling, screaming as it happened. Ray brought his hands to his ears, dropping the journal and hopping away from the flames. Heat encumbered the chamber and screeching filled the gambler’s ears, and he was unable to find Luther or Mabel past the flames. 

The red heat left as quick as it came, dying like a crumbling tower. The screams ceased and upon looking up, the flames had left a mass of black scorches upon the ceiling. Looking back down unveiled the creature before the gambler. 

The purple skin and golden eyes were very familiar, but there were a few things off about the demon. She was taller, her legs no longer wrapped in a purple cocoon but rather replaced by the body of a giant praying mantis—something Raymond particularly hated. The patron looked like a centaur but in bug form, her four spindly legs accompanied by the same number of arms. However, the lower pair were those of a mantis, folded up and dangerous-looking with pointed spines lining them. The top pair of limbs appeared relatively the same, if not slightly skinnier and longer than before. Her leathery, cape-like hair made a horseshoe shape in the back so as not to interfere with her new body, and the antennae from before remained the same. Her sharp face and sharper eyes peered around the room before landing on Raymond.

Different look; still Beata.

The backend of her body fluttered and she took a breath as if dusting herself off. She appeared… impressed. Not only with the room, but as she looked down at the gambler, she held the look of pride. Her giant legs carried her forward to him. 

Now that the fire had receded, Raymond was able to spot the other two. Luther was quickly making his way over while Mabel stayed back, behind the demon. Beata called down upon the gambler. “Well, moving up in power, I see,” she commented, a hint of good-nature in her voice. “Summoned me on your own?”

Raymond nodded as she walked right up to him, unable to stop himself from staring at her bug-fused body. For him it was revolting, seeing a childhood discomfort scaled up many times its original size, and then to be attached to something so familiar yet entirely strange. One of her mantis arms reached to graze the top of Ray’s head, as if she knew about his immature fear. It made the gambler shiver as goosebumps covered his skin.

“Beata!” Luther intervened, allowing Raymond a moment of peace as her arm was pulled away. “Look at you~!”

The patron lifted her chin, turning to the blonde. “It’s nothing to gawk over,” she told him.

“Ah, but I can tell it’s put you in a good mood~ Hm?”

“If he summoned me for you to make small talk, I will have lost my good mood,” the demon put bluntly, looking back at Raymond, “Surely, he didn’t let you climb the ladder of power for something as petty as that?”

Raymond, nervous, shook his head. “No, miss.”

“Then what is it?”

Luther looked to his partner, all smiles, allowing him to answer. The gambler pulled on his sleeve, clearing his throat. “We’re in a bit of trouble.”

“What’s new?”

“Haha…” Ray forced a chuckle, “It’s, uhm… pretty bad this time. A bit of a story, too.”

“Explain it quickly, then.”

The gambler did his best to tell her everything that happened. Her slim eyes studied the room as he did so, though he could tell she was still listening intently. And when he finished, she didn’t seem all that moved. “And so you’re hiding out here? Like cowards?”

Luther had moved right next to Raymond. “It was my idea,” the blonde offered, “And we knew we couldn’t fight without resources. Mabel’s doing a great favor.”

The patron turned her head to the dark-haired woman, who was watching the scene. “I should have recognized this place as her own,” Beata commented, giving a smile to Mabel—the first smile Raymond had ever seen from the demon. “If only you could replace Mimi.”

Ms. Ackerman crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows, a smug frown upon her face, and Luther whispered curses next to the gambler. 

“Of course, she isn’t, though,” Beata turned back, “And it seems like you two need help from me, yes?”

Ray and Luther nodded. “And you know,” the blonde started, “We’re trying to take care of Harris  _ discreetly _ . I don’t wanna ruin his life forever,” he wrapped his arms around one of Ray’s, pulling an act on the demon.

“Of course you wouldn’t,” she agreed though the response seemed mechanical and without care. “And for that, Zozo, I will be giving  _ you _ another ability.”

Raymond had nearly forgotten about the name and about missed it when she addressed him. He asked, mainly to be light-hearted, “Will I get to know what it is this time?”

“You’re lucky if you do,” Beata sneered, clearly taking it too seriously, and Ray backed off. Fortunately, “However, luck will be on your side today. As it has been for all this time.”

Ray silently exhaled a breath of relief. 

“If you’d like a more subtle approach, I’ll grant you the ability to curse any multiple of one physical item one time.”

“...What does that mean…?” the gambler asked honestly.

“Whatever item you choose, anything of the same origin or making will be cursed. The details can be fitting to anything of your liking.”

Raymond… almost understood. He was sure that meant if, say, he cursed a shoe, all identical shoes would be cursed and any more identical shoes the shoemaker made would also be cursed? He hoped either Luther or Mabel had a better understanding… and some brighter ideas. 

“I’m sure you’ll find some use for that, given your circumstances,” Beata said. “Will that be all?”

Luther answered, “Sounds like it.”

The patron’s eyes stared into the gambler. “You only have one use for that curse. Treat it wisely.”

Raymond nodded.

The demon walked back into the pentagram with grace (despite her form), her golden eyes peered around the room one last time. Her body disappeared nearly the same way the last time they summoned her: darkening and breaking up into a thousand little insects—except instead of crickets, this time, they were mantises. They spazzed and tripped and twitched before all lying still and dying, only to flake away and leave no trace of their existence.

The gambler took a deep breath and let it out shakily. His knees felt weak and the tips of his fingers tingled. Luther slapped Ray on the back, forcing a breath out of him, and the blonde laughed. “You see that, Mabel? My boy! First time on his own!” he cheered.

Mabel still had her arms crossed, looking up at the black circle. “She burnt my ceiling.”

“Usually that don’t happen,” Ray admitted. 

“Are  _ neither _ of you two in your heads?!” the blonde carried on, trying to be excited, “You just summoned a major demon on your own!” he grabbed either of his partner’s shoulders, the gambler giving a laugh. 

“I’m glad you’re happy,” Raymond said, smiling. 

“I’m  _ proud! _ ” Luther shook him a bit, “And you should be, too! Look at you, it’s like yesterday you were shaking in your socks at the thought of her—now you’re summoning her! Talk about casualties, you’re a heart attack~”

The gambler found his face growing hot, and he raised his hands to his shoulders as he looked away. “It’s…!” he giggled, “You’re so much!”

Luther snickered and leaned into Ray, giving him a kiss on the cheek. Surprised, again, Raymond tried to collect himself but was bombarded as the blonde trapped him in his arms and kissed him again and again. It was only until the gambler kissed him back did the onslaught cease and they were met with comfortable, lovely stillness. 

They parted and Luther kept his head against the gambler’s, hands gingerly cupping Ray’s face, while Raymond kept his arms wrapped tightly around the blonde. They entirely forgot about Mabel being there, who voiced a short, “Oh.”

Raymond, instinctually scared, snapped his neck around to face her. He was instantly terrified and jumped to conclusions. Maybe he and Luther would be her test subjects for her next possession, all because of their relationship. He grasped the blonde’s shirt and bit the inside of his cheek. 

And yet, to his pleasant and fortunate surprise, she didn’t seem so disgusted as she was thrown a curve. “Well… That’s surprising for you, Luther.”

The blonde grinned, showing his teeth. “And not for him~?” he joked.

“I don’t know him. I do know you. And I know how much you used to like to—”

“ _ Ah! _ ” Luther stopped, “That was  _ one _ time  _ three _ years ago!”

Mabel looked him up and down with the slightest smirk. “Really? You still carry yourself like you walked out of the brothel.”

“ _ Ahh! _ ” Raymond laughed aloud, pushing his partner away. “ _ Really?! _ You went to one of them?! Luther!”

That was one of the first times the gambler saw the blonde genuinely blush—his ears were a deep shade of red, and his cheeks went bright pink. “Well—”

“He didn’t just  _ go _ to a brothel,” Mabel pointed out, only for her to get pointed  _ at _ by Luther. 

“ _ Don’t _ you—!”

“He got paid to be there,” she finished anyway.

Raymond’s jaw dropped, and he threw his hat at his partner. “Son of a bitch!” he laughed, “You damn madman!”

“It was  _ once! _ ” he tried, his face turning a darker shade.

“For a week,” Mabel added.

Luther twisted his neck over to look at her, “I  _ needed _ the  _ money…! _ ” he hissed.

“Oh, I know.”

The blonde turned back to Raymond, a sheepish smile across his lips. The gambler was entirely frozen, mouth agape, limbs stuck in place. He was feeling rather hot in the face himself, wide-eyed and laughing.

“Ray,” Luther tried, stepping forward, “It’s not like—”

Raymond put an arm out, touching the blonde’s shoulder and making him stop. The gambler calmed down a bit, still flabbergasted at the sudden news. He couldn’t stop smiling in mockery at his partner though, no matter how shocked he might have been or how much Luther tried to play it off. 

Eventually, the moment went on, and after recollecting their things—and themselves—they went back upstairs. Raymond was too caught up in his lover to worry about the demon summoning at all. The demon becoming an afterthought wasn’t even the biggest thing that would later worry Ray’s subconscious, though; it was the total comfort he had with it. This lifestyle had truly become that: a lifestyle. Just something he was used to. Maybe, when he went to Vegas to gain a new identity—earn a new start—he really did accomplish that.

  
  


* * *

  
  


The night had arrived quickly after Beata was called. The sunrise hid behind the mountains but its light still blessed the sky and land below the mountains, leaving the satanists with only the sight of the darkening welkin. 

None of them exited the home once nightfall landed. The dead of winter was striking the world at full force, taking the three of them into the living area and lighting the fire. They didn’t stay long, though. Drowsiness befell all of them after the long trip and they made their way upstairs.

Mabel took her leave and proceeded to her room, while the other two went to theirs and cleaned up. They were promised that they’d be able to buy new clothes the next week Ms. Ackerman went into town, and they were both happy about that. Until then, though, they managed. Like they always had.

They blew the candles out and tucked themselves into bed, immensely enjoying the roominess and comfort. Even with the fire put out (the heat wouldn’t have been able to reach upstairs, anyway) and the cold nipping their digits and faces, they were satisfied. 

Raymond was laying on his back, hands behind his head, allowing himself total relaxation. Luther was just next to him, on his side. Before the gambler may have drifted off, he spoke into the darkness. “So… How you like it?”

Ray smiled, turning his head and opening his resting eyes. “It’s good…” he said quietly, “I thought it was a bit much at first, but it’s turnin` out real nice.”

Luther smiled back. “Unfortunately, we can’t get too comfortable. Can’t stay here forever…” a pause, “...But we might be here for a while… so… maybe we can get just a  _ little _ comfy.”

Raymond chortled softly in response, taking his arms down and turning on his side to face his partner. They looked longingly at each other for a moment, just grinning away without a care in the world. Ray started conversation. “You know. I was thinkin` `bout the summonin` earlier. Usually, somethin` happens to me when I get a power.” He remembered all the times he was granted an ability by their patron. The shapeshifting obviously being the worst—with faux wings splitting his back and making him pass out. Every gift given to him had an initial side-effect, “...But it didn’t happen this time. You think she accidentally… didn’t give me anythin`?”

Luther seemed confused but not too worried. “She wouldn’t have forgotten,” he assured, “But I don’t know why there wouldn’t be a drawback.”

Ray thought, “Maybe it’ll happen when I use it?”

“That’s not a crazy idea…” the blonde said, “I guess we’ll just have to see.”

“Yeah…”

Another pause and Luther was biting his lip. He didn’t make eye contact as he spoke. “Hey… You’re not seriously hurt when those drawbacks happen, right…?”

Raymond hesitated, “Well… yeah. It usually feels awful, but… I mean, it only lasts for so long.”

“I just know I can be an ass about it,” Luther admitted, “How I don’t really… seem to care about the pain. I sorta forgot how new you are, even still.”

“You always make me feel better afterward, though,” Ray tried, “And a lifetime of powers for a minute of pain? That’s not so bad…”

Bright blue eyes met dark ones, and a half-smile stretched across the blonde’s lips. “In a sense…” He reached over the bed and took the gambler’s hand, holding it between the two. “Uhm… What are you thinking about cursing?” he asked, clearly wanting to shift the subject.

“I dunno…” the gambler answered, “I was thinkin` the man’s gun, but that might not work.”

“Why not?”

“Well, I wanted to curse it to backfire. Maybe it would explode in his hand, or somethin`, but then I was rememberin` what Beata said,” he continued, “That every replica and every new gun made would be cursed the same way. And then, what if someone innocent has the same gun Harris does? Then their hand goes off and it’s a mess all `round, you know?” He took a breath, “Plus, Harris can just get a new gun…”

“Smart thinking. I didn’t consider it that way,” Luther complimented. “What if… you curse him? There’s no other copies of him.”

“Yeah, but his boys might still be huntin` us after that. Plus, Beata said any  _ item _ . Pretty sure people and animals ain’t gonna count.”

“Right, right…” the blonde agreed. “Maybe we’ll come across something and… I dunno, it’ll spark up an idea.”

“Maybe…” Raymond took a long pause before advancing. The subject was touchy, especially since they seemed to be in a constant state of trying to forget about their problems; it came up anyway. “I was also thinkin` of how you took that boat to Greece…” he started, “And I thought… maybe we could just… do that…” 

“What do you mean?” the blonde queried.

“I mean, to get out of all this trouble… There’s no way in hell they’d find us if we just went overseas…”

Luther looked through the gambler, thinking. He opened his mouth to speak, but the first attempt came with no sound. He recollected himself and gathered his words. “That  _ is _ true,” the blonde admitted, “But…”

Raymond waited.

“I’m fairly certain they won’t find us here…” Luther spoke, “Even if they do, they wouldn’t be able to get to us. This place is too locked-down. Mabel can just summon up some demons if we get in trouble. Plus, both of our powers… It would end  _ here _ if it came to that.”

That didn’t exactly satisfy the gambler. “I don’t want it to end like that. I just want to make sure we’re away from them.”

“I know you do, but…” he sighed, “I want to give that to you. But Beata expects us to handle them so she doesn’t have to.”

“Why would she have to?”

“If we die, and we personally haven’t taken care of Harris and his boys, she has to explain why to her upbringer.”

Raymond knew what that meant. He frowned, “So she’s got to make excuses for us to the Devil?”

“Essentially.”

“And what will he do?”

Luther waited to string together the correct words, but even then, he delivered with the simple, “Who knows. But whatever it is, Beata won’t be thrilled. Which means… we pay for it.”

“So it’s an ego thing?” Ray pronounced unhappily.

“I mean… that  _ is _ the Devil’s sin. And, in the end, that’s all that matters in Hell: your image—your pride. If you can’t show for yourself, what are you?” he squeezed Ray’s hand, “I wish it was more complicated.”

God, if Raymond didn’t hate it more than now. The thought didn’t sit kindly in his head, but he refused to voice his scrambled opinions. He knew this was the life he chose, and he wasn’t willing to face Satan himself and make the demon change his mind. The success rate didn’t seem exactly high. 

That was when the gambler officially realized that they would  _ have _ to finish off Harris & Co. If for nothing more than ego, then for karma. The “playful revenge” they promised so long ago would have to result in the end of a man’s existence. Running wouldn’t solve anything, no matter how desperately Raymond Earnest wanted it to.

This was it. All the talk of revenge and vengeance Luther had scattered through conversations was an actual goal, not just some script that came with satanism. It made Raymond wonder who exactly the blonde exacted that goal onto to acquire a title and earn himself powers so quickly.

He didn’t dwell on the thought much. The gambler already knew too much about Luther while not knowing anything at all. He always got hints of his partner’s past actions, but without a motive, no fantasy was justified. So, the notion was dropped.

Luther must have seen the gears turning behind Raymond’s eyes. He shimmied closer, advancing until he was able to wrap his arms around the gambler and lay chest-to-chest. “I know it’s a foreign concept to you…” he whispered, “...And sometimes I wish I never recruited you, if only to save you from the trouble…” a pause, “...But whatever happens, I’ll be here. And I know you’re strong enough to push through. Even without me…”

Raymond hugged his lover, chin upon the top of curly hair. He held him tight, truly worrisome about what might happen if he let go. “...But I won’t be without you…”

“...No, you won’t…” Luther assured. He tangled their legs together beneath the sheets, creating warmth and a sense of security.

The gambler could forget about his worries of being alone. He was reminded of his companion as long as his body laid there. 


	17. Springs of Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1 Peter 4:8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !Warning!  
> This chapter includes triggers for childhood trauma/abuse
> 
> Also, this chapter is r e a l l y gay

A couple of days passed without much to do. Raymond slowly found his way around everything: the rooms around the house became familiar; the pods were still confusing, but less so after a few days; he found himself constantly spending time with the animals and offering to help take care of them, mainly to remind himself of better, younger days; he learned that the collection of hot springs close by were primarily for drinking water and  _ not _ for bathing or anything close to dipping your toes in (after suggesting it was probably very relaxing to sit in one of the pools). Upon that idea, though, Luther mentioned there was a waterfall and a huge collection of springs somewhere further down the mountain. Mabel told them if they wanted to go, they could, they’d just have to tell her when. 

“Oh, let’s go right now,” Luther said.

The three of them were in the living area. Mabel and Raymond both gave him a look. It was nearing 9PM, the sun had already set, and the cold had the land in its clutches. “Ain’t it freezin`?”

“It’ll make the hot springs way better~” the blonde pointed with a grin.

Ray wasn’t sure about that.

Ms. Ackerman didn’t look too happy with the idea, but she tossed her annoyance into the air. “If that’s something you two want to do, wait a second. I’ll get you a map of the roads so you don’t get lost,” she stood from her chair closest to the fire, “And a key to the house, since who knows how long you’ll keep him out for,” she said to Luther.

The blonde hopped up from the couch, patting Ray on the knee as he went. “C`mon, then,” he beckoned. 

“Really?”

“Why not?” he shrugged and tailed Mabel as she walked to a storage cabinet. In it were files and files of papers, and she scanned across the spines of the files until stopping at a particular one. Raymond stood from his seat and followed the other two; by the time he reached them, Mabel had given Luther a folded piece of paper. 

“There’s a map of the area,” she told him as he unfolded it, “Hot springs sprinkled everywhere.”

Raymond peered over Luther’s shoulder, scanning the plat without much decision in where they’d go. He recognized the layout of the base close to the top of the paper and the tiny village of Springdale pretty far down. The blonde drew his finger along the marked areas while Mabel waited. 

“Let’s…” Luther began, until poking his head up, “Where was the waterfall, again?”

The dark-haired woman quickly found a marked location. It was offset to the base, due west, without a name. “Head over the bridge and around the walls of the canyon. Then follow the trail straight over.”

“Got it,” the blonde nodded, folding up the paper and shoving it in his pocket. 

“Key is by the door,” Mabel said as he began walking off, “You two need anything else?”

“We’ll take our coats and, uhm…” he stopped and spun on his heels, “Got a lantern?”

“Just take one from one of the pods on your way out.”

“Will do. Thanks.”

He and Raymond went to the front door, pulling their heavy coats from the hangers and the key from a key rack. Mabel stood by the doorframe of the living room, silently ensuring they had everything. “Watch out for coyotes on your way.”

“Tch!” Luther chuckled, “We can handle a few dogs.”

“Mhm,” she hummed sarcastically.

The blonde opened the door, giving a small wave to the dark-haired woman. “Don’t wait for us. But, if you wake up and we’re not here in the morning, presume we died,” he said in a semi-joking manner.

“...Sure.”

Luther walked out and Ray waved to Mabel.

“Good luck with him,” she told the gambler.

He smiled, “Thanks, miss,” and walked out, closing the door.

They passed into the middle hallway that branched off from the roofed intersection. In the first pod, on one of the tables, was an unlit, handheld lantern. Luther stole and lit it, then handed it to Raymond. 

They made their way out of the pods without much of a word. When they stepped outside, into the frozen air, they definitely felt it. Goosebumps immediately rose and they could feel the cold gnaw at their bared fingers and faces. Raymond had left his hat back inside, and so threw his cowl over his head. Luther did the same.

The burning yellow light from the lantern illuminated the area a fair distance around the two, harsh shadows being created wherever objects got in the way of the glow. The animals that were at a distance behind them were relatively quiet, save the few clucks and clopping of hooves. The satanists walked side-by-side out of the clearing and over the rickety bridge. 

Raymond drifted over to the railing of the platform, peering down. A dark abyss greeted him, dozens of meters deep; it made his stomach flip and he pulled away from the edge. 

“Bit of a drop, huh?” Luther teased.

“Ain’t able to see the bottom,” Ray responded.

Quick silence occurred, as there wasn’t much to be said. The gambler went on with a different conversation as they rounded a mountain. “Why you takin` us to some springs?” his breath was colored golden by the light as it was sputtered into the winter air.

“They’re relaxing, and I thought we’d want to relax.”

“Sure, but,” Ray laughed, “What, we gonna invite the coyotes?”

Luther chuckled, “We could!”

Raymond shook his head, “No thank you.”

The blonde continued smiling.

“How long do you reckon it’ll take to get there?” the gambler asked.

“Shouldn’t be long. Maybe twenty minutes?” he looked at the map, “Thirty, max.”

Raymond nodded, and they continued walking.

They found themselves gazing up at the stars, admiring the sky’s silver freckles as they walked. The lamp didn’t allow the fullness of the scenic beauty that the atmosphere had to offer, acting as a star of its own, but still, they didn’t put out the light. 

They approached a two-way fork in the road and took a left; Ray realized that the path was hardly a path at all. Some footmarkers were scattered here and there and a very faint outline of a trail could be seen if you squinted just right, but it was obvious that this road was barely touched. 

Raymond looked over at Luther, who was checking the map to ensure they were going the right way. Little blonde curls stuck out from his hood and bounced as he moved, tickling his face, shimmering in the lantern-light. Ray found the smallest of things about his partner very pleasant and caught himself staring. Well… not before Luther did. His bright blue eyes took a glance at the gambler, and when Raymond quickly turned away, the blonde chuckled. “What’re you looking at?”

The gambler grinned sheepishly. “One of the stars.”

“God, quit it!” Luther laughed, elbowing him jokingly. Ray laughed with him as he wrapped an arm around the gambler’s back, walking closer. “Far too cheesy.”

“C’mon, I’m tryin`,” Raymond snickered and put his arm around his partner’s shoulders.

They were in silence, again, sharing heat in the cold. Small, dead bushes and frozen dust were the only things that accompanied them on their travel. That, and the howls and yips of canyon-canines. 

Luther squeezed his arm around the gambler’s torso. “Damn dogs.”

“It’ll be fine,” Ray played it off.

“Well, I know. We have powers—”

“No, no,” Raymond stopped him, “We don’t gotta hurt the poor things.”

“Poor things?”

“They’re out here hungry and cold! `Course they’re poor.”

“Tch,” Luther rolled his eyes, “Make a meal out of us.”

“Will not,” Ray pushed against him, “Quit bein` dramatic.”

“Quit…  _ not…! _ ” the blonde chortled.

A few long minutes passed. The path curved, narrowed, and widened into a long clearing along the side of one of the canyons. They’d walked the journey halfway when yellow eyes belonging to two bodies peered at them from the dead shrubbery. Luther was the first to notice the coyotes, multiple yards away and keeping their distance. “There, right there,” he whispered and pointed.

Ray looked over and saw them, feeling his partner’s muscles instantly and obviously tense. Luther picked up the pace, but Ray stopped him. “Don’t run, don’t run,” the gambler told him, “They’ll just chase you if you do.”

“Well, sh-t!” the blonde didn’t seem so much scared as he was annoyed with the animals.

Raymond handed him the lantern and picked up a handful of pebbles and small stones from the ground. He drew away from Luther and raised his voice, shouting and jogging over to the coyotes. “ _ Get! Get! _ ” The pair of canines backed up and began to side-step away. Ray chucked the rocks, knowing it wouldn’t hurt them, and clapped as he yelled. The animals flinched and jogged off, leaving the trail with their tails down. 

Raymond stayed close to the brush, watching the coyotes scram. Luther slowly made his way over, squinting through the darkness. “That easy, huh?”

“Pretty much,” the gambler shrugged, “Had to scare them off a bunch back home.” He took the lantern back and started back down the trail, the coyotes far gone. “What, no coyotes up north?”

“I… eh…” Luther grabbed the back of his neck and looked away, and the upbeat mood was replaced with more solemn undertones. “No, we had those… I just…” he was choking on his words, “God, I  _ want _ to tell you.”

Ray gazed at him, lowering his brow with concern.

“But…” he sighed, sharply and quickly, “Listen. I know I need to. But not right now.”

The gambler didn’t expect anything more than that. He didn’t pressure it, though.

However, he didn’t have to. Luther continued on his own, “Not right now…” he repeated, “I don’t wanna ruin the mood, you know?”

“I only assumed your upbringin` was nothin` good,” Ray commented.

“Ha, yeah. Something like that…” he cleared his throat, “But I don’t care about it. Let’s get away from that.”

Raymond forced a smile, wanting to let his partner know it was okay. He complied, though, and quickly tried to think up another conversation piece. Awkwardly, he stated, “I think your nightmares have been gettin` better. I haven’t… woken up as of late.”

“No, I think you’ve been learning to hold me down in your sleep.”

“...Oh, really?”

“Yeah. I woke up one night,” he giggled, “You basically rolled over on me.”

“Sh-t,” Ray chuckled diffidently, “My bad.”

They continued the walk with snippets of chats the rest of the way. 

After a while, the sound of crashing water could be heard from a distance. They were approaching an opened-up segment of a canyon with tall walls, mist and steam rising from its depths. The path rounded into the opening, zig-zagging down to the floor of the canyon. Old, rotting bridges and platforms helped make the descent easier. The satanists stood at the top of the path, looking out at the landscape. The entirety of it was slightly bigger than the base’s clearing; the far wall harboring multiple levels of cliffs. From one of the middle segments sprouted a waterfall, skinny and tall; the stream of water dispersed further and further the farther it fell, and when it landed at the large pool below mist and vapor clouded around its base. At the very bottom sat the large pool—as said before—but was segmented off by multiple large puddles. These puddles were clearly hot springs, the familiar colors faintly seen in the darkness, and the steam rising from the water surfaces. 

Luther tucked the map away and took the lead down. Soon, all other sounds of the night were drowned out by the crashing water. Cold droplets landed on their faces the further down they went and only made them shudder more.

They reached the bottom, the blonde breathing a sigh of relief. “Look at this place!” he shouted over the water, as they were standing right next to the large pool.

Raymond was gazing up at the top of the waterfall, mesmerized as he watched it fall. “Hella pretty!” 

Luther purposely bumped against the gambler. “One of those platforms goes to that ledge,” he pointed up at one of the segments of the wall, lower than the crest of the waterfall. “Bet you we could jump!”

“Jump?” Ray echoed, “That safe?”

“If the water’s deep enough! Hold on!” He stepped away and began stripping clothes from his body. First went his coat, and his cowl, then his shoes—he went down the list. Raymond figured that, even if the water wasn’t deep enough they would still dip into the hot springs, so he followed suit. 

Luther quickly undressed—much faster and with much more confidence than Raymond had—and stepped into the water. Ray still had his undershirt and trousers on, and kept them on for as long as possible, mainly because of the chill. He watched in silence as his partner felt the rocks along the edge of the pool, then suddenly sank as he took a step forward. Ray couldn’t stop the laugh as his friend unexpectedly went under, only to pop back up and spit water. He was laughing, too, though it was hard to hear. And with his head the only thing visible above the surface, that was all Raymond got to look at. “Well, we don’t have to worry about he edges!” Luther announced, “Hold on, hold on.” He took a deep breath and dunked his head underwater, diving down and out of sight.

The gambler stopped undressing, even though he wasn’t finished, and set all his things down. He busied himself by intently watching the churning face of the pool and counting the seconds that went by in case Luther didn’t turn up. And even though minimal moments passed, Ray found himself becoming increasingly paranoid.

Right when he was thinking about jumping in, Luther’s face broke into the air and he gulped breaths. “Oh yeah, that’s hella deep,” he exclaimed, swimming over to the surface. “C`mon, Ray! Hurry up!” he beckoned, pulling himself out from the surface.

If Raymond was going to be honest, he wasn’t entirely excited about jumping from a goddamn cliff. It didn’t matter how deep the pool was or how confident Luther was, the thought of free-falling made his stomach twist—even while on solid ground.

Or… was it something else that made his guts flip…? There, on Luther’s chest, was the same scar Raymond had been shown before. Deep and thin like a ravine, except… there were more. More marks; more scars. Nowhere close to the same type of mold his deep scar was, these looked like burns. Intricate, precise burns, as if a scalding metal poker had been dragged against his skin. There were many lines, the shortest encasing the deep scar in a specific-looking pattern. Two longer marks that looked like upside-down L’s were symmetrically placed on either side of the deep scar. Falling in place down the marks were little dashes of burns, four on either side. Below were the same dashes, just rotated slightly. And no more than an inch from each of the ends of those dashes were lines—long, long lines. The burns wrapped around his entire body, a few going over his arms, the rest under and around his torso. 

Raymond couldn’t stare for long, as Luther hopped over to him and held his chin in a pale hand, kissing him abruptly and roughly. And though it was enjoyable, Ray couldn’t help but wonder if his lover was just trying to get him to look away.

They parted quickly and the gambler tried his absolute best to pretend to not notice the scars. He swiftly threw his shirt off, some chilled water dripping from his chin. “It cold in the water?” he asked, hoping Luther would talk up a storm and remove his mind from that silent encounter.

“No, it’s actually pretty warm!” he said genuinely, “The air is damn cold, though!”

As soon as Raymond had tossed his undergarments away, Luther snatched his hand and fled up the path again. The gambler felt the dust beneath his feet, as well as some jagged pebbles that sent a ping of pain up his legs when he stepped on them. He was catching onto Luther’s excitement, even when leaving the light of the lantern while being simultaneously exposed to the elements. Which, by the way, the elements were brutal. Ray instinctually went to rub his arms and curl his body closer to himself just to keep warm, but couldn’t fully commit as Luther had one of his hands.

Their bare feet trotted across a small, plainly-made, rickety bridge and onto the rocky platform of the canyon. The partners hied over to the stream of water flowing only a couple of feet from the ledge; looking down at the pool warranted Ray’s stomach to flip. He stepped away, chuckling nervously and drawing a breath.

“Oh, what? Scared of heights?” Luther teased.

“No! I  _ respect _ heights,” he joked, “There’s a difference!” 

“Who’s going first?” the blonde asked, pulling Ray back to the edge. “I think the shortest should go first~”

“I think the youngest should go first!” Ray contended.

“Oh really? When’s you’re birthday?”

The gambler was fairly confident in his answer. “26th of February! 1859!”

“Ha!” Luther had a huge smirk on his face, “1st of January! 1859!”

“ _ B u l l s h - t ! _ ” Raymond laughed, taunting his partner.

“Go on! Get down there!” the blonde waved on, backing up.

“Sneaky bastard you are!” Ray shouted, completely baffled. He looked back over the edge, getting that flipping feeling again, and looked back at Luther one last time. “You said the water was warm?”

“Yeah!  _ Jump! _ ”

Raymond threw his hands up in disbelief, took a breath, and launched himself from the ledge. He felt the air hit his body and zip past his ears, deafening him. His heart leapt to his throat as he fell, the weightlessness almost feeling like flying. It only lasted a few seconds but it felt like an eternity of just being one with the wind and sky.

And then he hit the water…

_ It was f-cking cold. _

A subtle weightlessness stayed with him, even as his descent slowed and eventually stopped, but the air left him. He wasn’t sure how far he’d sank—all around and under him was pitch-black, threatening to swallow him up in the best way. He looked up—his body starting to seriously reject the frigid nature of the water—and found silver moonlight shining through. He swam up, just as Luther came crashing in, missing the gambler by a yard or two. The blonde let his body settle and met Ray underwater as his partner’s head surfaced and gasped for air. Curly cues came up right after, and Ray voiced his very emotional opinion. 

“ _ Sneaky bastard! _ ” he jokingly screamed at Luther, pushing his arms out to keep the blonde that much farther away. “It’s  _ freezin`! _ ”

His partner was laughing but his teeth were clattering. “I know! It’s way too cold!” he swam past the gambler, over to the edge of the pool, “Ray, why didn’t you tell me?”

“ _ Luther! _ ” Ray yelled, following after him. “Son of a—! Luther Stagmire!”

The blonde was laughing up a storm as he lifted himself from the water. “Raymond Earnest!” he mocked playfully before scampering off to the hot springs.

Ray pulled himself out of the pool and scrambled after his partner, dust and dirt sticking to the bottoms of his feet as he followed. He followed Luther, watching him skip over small, shallow springs, before carefully dipping into a deep, large, steaming spring. The gambler knew better than to jump in and be rough, but it didn’t stop him from holding that little grudge. He waded into the water, the spring much hotter than he initially expected, but ignored it. Luther didn’t even try to escape, he just watched on with a cheeky smile as Raymond moved through the water. 

When they met, the blonde pulled a cheap move. He immediately pulled Ray into an enticing kiss, hypnotizing the gambler to get him to calm down and avoid any gamesome punishment coming his way. Raymond, of course, kissed back. It was intimate and exciting, with Luther’s arms around his neck and legs loosely around his hips, Ray was able to feel… well,  _ everything _ . Even when the gambler attempted to pull his head away, the blonde only chased his lips and brought him back.

The misdirecting kiss did indeed work to sway karma, but not entirely. Luther loosened himself and drifted away enough for either of the two to gain a breath. But, the entire while, Raymond was giving his partner that  _ look _ . The stink-eye, the disappointed stare, the crooked and salty half-grin. The blonde’s only response was to hold Ray’s face and chirp, “Whoops~”

Raymond, unable to keep that smile off his face, shook his head. “Your birthday ain’t even the first of the year, is it?”

“Oh, well,  _ that one _ you’ll have to figure out,” Luther teased, leaning in for another kiss.

Raymond accepted it reluctantly, but acceptance was the key part. They settled themselves as they met, enjoying the heat of the spring, enjoying the heat of one another, enjoying the taste. They flowed near the edge of the spring, finding an improvised seat under the surface and kept close to it. Ray had his arms around the blonde’s back, keeping him near, and he felt the lines of burns. He said nothing and forgot about it.

Luther cozied up to his partner and vice versa. The blonde slicked his wet hair over his head to keep it out of his face, his locks appearing many shades darker. Raymond had adjusted to the heat, relishing in the depths with his partner at his side. Steam gently floated into the air and the ripples in the water settled. All was calm.

They craned their necks up, peering at the sky. A golden glow reflected off the steam, coming from the lantern, and blocking their view of the stars. Luther only had to look at it and the flame went out, shrouding them in nothing but moonlight. The steam was mostly transparent now, and that vast belt of stars shone brightly in the sky. A million and more stars, twinkling, blinking, some even brave enough to soar through the sky and burn out. 

They sat there, simmered down, and small talk was created within minutes. “Why Abraham?” Luther asked out of the blue, making Ray lightly chuckle at the randomness of it. “Get named after the President?”

“Ha! If only. How neat would that have been?” Raymond responded, “No, not that. My daddy’s name was Abraham.” They were able to speak at a somewhat normal level, far enough from the noise of crashing water.

“Huh,” a pause, “You think he was named after the President?” he asked jokingly.

“Oh, definitely,” Ray nodded with sarcasm. “What `bout you? Your name special in any way?”

“Not all that much. I mean, my last name essentially means a ‘deer stuck in the mud’, but that’s about it.”

Raymond was amused but not satisfied and knew Luther was purposely avoiding the subject. “Middle name perks?”

“I don’t have a middle name,” the blonde made it obvious he was lying.

“C’mon,” the gambler urged, “What’s so bad `bout it?”

“Well…” he hesitated, “...it’s  _ Dawn _ ,” he sighed, “Luther  _ Dawn _ Stagmire.”

“Dawn! That’s cute, though!”

“ _ Exactly! _ ” the blonde groaned and laughed at the same time, “F-cking adorable, isn’t it?”

“It ain’t bad,” Raymond tried.

“What’s worse, then?”

The gambler grinned. “You bein` at a brothel,” he taunted.

“Damnit!” Luther splashed warm water in his partner’s face, both cachinnating. “Once!  _ Once _ and you’ll never let me live it down, will you?”

“Well, you ain’t gonna stop my curiosity!” Ray defended gleefully, “I mean, what was it like? Bein` a prostitute for a week?”

“Hardly anything! Promise! I just had to meet with some other guys at a house and wait for our customer.”

“Who’d you serve?” Ray pushed.

“Women,” Luther answered.

“Really? When’d you switch?”

“I’ve always had an interest in both sides of the team, but…” he tickled Ray’s chin, “You’re my first official attempt~”

The gambler couldn’t stop his face from heating up, and it wasn’t just from the springs.

“Maybe later… I’ll show you a trick or two I learned from my week there~?”

“Luther!” Raymond quickly cleared his throat and changed the conversation before it went too far, “Rare place for, uhm, men to hand out services, isn’t it? Rare enough for women. And you were desperate for money? What’d you get paid there?”

“Yeah, I was trying to get enough for a ship ride to Greek and back. It was easy money, and being there every day for seven days added up,” he grinned, “$60, and an extra $10 for being nice~”

The gambler nearly choked. “ _ $70 a week? _ ”

“I know!” the blonde snickered, “God, if it wasn’t so awful and shameless, I may have just made a living off that.”

“Do I wanna know the details of ‘awful and shameless’?” Ray asked.

“I mean, look at me. I’m blonde, skinny, and pale. Even more so three years ago!” Luther pushed himself against his partner, “Hell yeah I was constantly being sized up.”

“But that’s a bit of the things I love `bout you~” Raymond cheesily told him, receiving giggles. 

“Oh please, tell me more,” the blonde drew himself over Ray’s body, the gambler responding by holding onto him. He pouted, “After those dirty men destroyed my pride, I need some big burly dream to put me on my feet~”

“Hoho, you’ve worked yourself into a mood, ain’t you~?” Raymond and Luther kissed on each other, not going too far.

They spent their time enjoying themselves.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Neither of them were sure how much time had passed. Maybe an hour? Two? Possibly three? They didn’t know, nor did they care. The night was still mighty cold and entirely dark, clouds coming to play and mask the stars. It was about then that they decided it would be best to head back. They tried their best to dry off without wetting their clothes, but the bite of the cold was unbearable. It’d gotten much worse as time passed, and they threw on their garments, dampening the ones against their skin. It was uncomfortable, but at least they weren’t naked in the snow… 

...Which had also started.

White crystals fell from the thick clouds overhead, being sprinkled onto the dusty land. Raymond was surprised, though he knew he shouldn’t have been. He just didn’t expect this foreign, red land to be caked with splotches of white at the same time. 

The gambler picked up the lantern and Luther ignited it while taking the lead. They hurried up the path, shivering enough as it was, but it was about to get worse. The walls of the canyon surrounding the springs had blocked the wind, and now while they were out in the open it hit them like a train. Fortunately, their backs were to the source of the breeze, but the gelidity was harsh and violent nonetheless.

They huddled close together, keeping the lantern lit and close as the only source of warmth. And, though the night was unforgiving, they were both feeling somewhat pleasant. The trip had been good—all they needed to do was get back.

There wasn’t much to talk about. In fact, it seemed they were both searching for any piece of conversation but came up empty-handed each time.

They’d gotten to the part of the trail where they saw the coyotes, all the while saying hardly anything. It was then that Luther took a frosty breath through his nose and exhaled a cloud. He turned his head to his partner, asking, “You saw the scars, right?”

Raymond instantly knew what the blonde was talking about—the burn lines—and nodded slowly.

“...You wanna hear what happened?” He had to raise his voice slightly to be heard over the wind.

Ray wasn’t sure how to answer, assuming it had something to do with his whole mysterious background, and just stared.

“We don’t have much to talk about. It’s not really the best of stories, but it’ll distract us from the cold.”

The gambler wanted to hear his past experiences so badly. He wanted to know who his lover really was, why he thought the way he did, why he did anything. But at this point, Raymond wouldn’t have been upset if he never heard it. He was content with not knowing, expecting nothing more than what he was already given. And besides, what if Luther really  _ didn’t _ want to tell? What if he was just doing it for conversation, and he’d regret it later? 

No, Raymond didn’t believe that. Luther was smart—smart enough to know when, where, and why to talk. And the gambler wanted to know. He agreed, “Go for it.”

The blonde appeared to quickly mentally prepare himself. “Here goes, then,” he began, “I grew up in a big town up north. I lived with my three younger brothers and my mom. Don’t know my dad. The town wasn’t anything out of the ordinary; lots of houses for families, some businesses, pens for cattle, and some farmland. Didn’t grow a lot because of the weather, but everyone made do. 

“There was also a church, you know, not out of the ordinary. But by the time I was a teenager a new priest took over. I went to church every Sunday, did everything I was told, the most Christian you could get. But then that priest… I don’t know what set him off. He told my mom that he thought I was possessed. And my mom just… went with it…!”

Raymond raised a brow, seeing that his partner’s childhood was starting off about as well as the gambler’s.

“So I got taken from home for a day. And then another day, and another, just randomly throughout the month. The first few times weren’t really… anything. I just kept my mouth shut while he chanted sh-t and hit me with a crucifix. Nothing happened.

“But then, one day, he brought one of my brothers in. The oldest out of the three of them. The priest said he needed someone I was close with to do his whole… mess… because obviously him alone wasn’t working.” Luther scowled, “Made my brother stab me in the chest.”

Raymond, surprised, went, “ _ That’s _ what that scar’s from?”

“Yeah!” the blonde responded to Ray’s surprisal with the expression of ‘you and me both.’ “I think he was eleven at that point? Just a kid! And this ass of a priest made him do that!”

“Why would—” the gambler stopped himself, collecting his words, “Why  _ stab _ you? If he thought you were possessed, what the hell would stabbing you help for?”

“Sh-t if I know,” he shook his head, “Something about demons infecting the heart—which is straight bullsh-t. He said that the demon wouldn’t let  _ him _ stab me, but my conscience would let a  _ loved-one _ stab me.” Luther sighed sharply, “And we all just… did what he said. We were all kids and the priest was an adult, plus my mom agreed with his methods, so what were we supposed to do?”

Raymond didn’t have much of a comment. That was a rough situation to be in, no way else to put it. 

“Eventually, he just took me from my home altogether. Kept me for… months? A year? Maybe two years? I honestly don’t even know. I lost track of my age for a while because I just didn’t know what day it was anymore. I wasn’t allowed to see my brothers, hardly. I wasn’t allowed to go outside of his house. I wasn’t even allowed to go to church. He kept me in the attic; all he did was feed me and run his crazy experiments.

“The few exceptions when I  _ could _ see my brothers, I was a mess. I wasn’t happy. I hardly talked. The more I visited them, the more I realized that this priest or my mom or both of them had brainwashed my brothers into thinking I was actually a bad person. Into thinking I was actually possessed…” he was clutching onto the fabric of his clothes tightly. “Michael really started to think I couldn’t be helped. Michael’s, uhm, the one who had to stab me…”

Ray shook his head, “But why would they even think you were possessed? I mean, what do you have to do to get that sort of reputation?”

“I wish I knew!” the blonde stated, “Be your-damn-self, based on my experience! I didn’t do anything! I just…” he shook his head, “The priest said I was full of pride. And, yes, I was. I was the oldest, and I knew that one day I’d have to take over for my mother. Plus, with my dad gone, I was basically the man of the house. I was preparing myself for leading the charge, and while I was at it I just… was being a kid… Making stupid remarks, flaunting, boasting—I didn’t know it would land me in Hell.”

“I don’t think anyone would expect that,” Ray tried, “That’s… That’s just f-ckin` awful.”

Luther huffed and continued, “Eventually I just wasn’t able to see my family or anyone, really. Just got thrown into a bunch of scenarios. Locked in a cage with doves, had my arms and legs squeezed by snakes, holy water and oil poured on me, then in my eyes, then I had to consume it. And, of course, the burns. After the stabbing thing failed—and I somehow survived—he burned the area around my scar to try to pull the demon out. Some… f-ck-all method…” a pause, “Eventually, the old bastard just died. I got out. I ran. Met Mabel.”

The gambler expected him to say something more. Something to end the story. Surely it didn’t just fade out like that? But apparently, it did. There was nothing more that the blonde commented on. Ray filled the silence, “...Does she know?”

“No. No, but, I learned a lot from her. Learned that whatever that ‘priest’ was doing to exorcise a demon was so far from correct. Entirely wrong way to go about it. And I learned that there was no way I was possessed. It just… I couldn’t have been.”

Raymond didn’t know what to think. All his mind went to was the thought of Luther’s mother. No,  _ his own _ mother. He regretted every day of his life that he didn’t see his upbringer, that he refused to acknowledge her existence, and he knew that she wanted to do everything for him. But, in his partner’s case… it didn’t seem like Luther’s mother loved him. It seemed like she went out of her way to ensure he was out of her life. It seemed like she just wanted him to hurt.

There had to be something else, surely? A mother does everything she can for her kids, right? Why didn’t she do the same with Luther’s brothers? Surely, surely, that couldn’t be the end of the story. Had the blonde never visited his family again after that? Never went back? Never heard from them? “Why would… your mom…” the gambler didn’t finish. He didn’t have to. The blonde already knew what he was saying. 

“I wouldn’t have a clue. Why she let that jackass do those things to me, why she ignored me, why she didn’t defend me, why she let me fall… I don’t know.”

A quiet hushed over them. They were walking, but things were still. The wind settled a bit, faintly breathing amongst them rather than whistling in their ears. The lantern even seemed to be dimmer. There were no tears. There was no shame. Just… bad memories. 

There  _ had _ to be more. Luther  _ had _ to feel something, didn’t he? Why the hell was this man so fired up about it, but without any other emotions? Why was he so high without a low? 

Raymond could only ask one thing that might answer his confusion. But, he knew it wouldn’t do much other than receive a blunt response. Still, he asked, “Are you okay…?”

“No,” the blonde answered, quickly and simply. It was exactly what the gambler expected. What else would he have expected from this quick-witted man, though?

And yet, Luther continued. “I mean… Well, obviously not,” he backtracked, a rare sight to see, “When you’re that young and impressionable, things like that bleed into your later life. And when I had the whole world against me, it didn’t feel… great. You know?

“I don’t regret anything because I didn’t do anything wrong,” he said outright, “But… when even your family—your own mom—is against you… sh-t like that makes you feel like… like maybe you  _ did _ do something wrong…” he stopped, but only for a moment, “But… I’ve made it this far. Clearly I’m doing  _ something _ right.”

“Do you mean becoming a satanist? You think that’s what’s gotten you this far?” Ray asked genuinely.

The blonde took a moment to answer. “No… That’s not it,” he brought his fingers to his lips, thinking, “Satanism was just an escape… I know I didn’t have to join, but, what else could I have done? After that… after being thrust from the Church and all her glory… with all that anger… What else could I have done? I was almost forced to join.” He shook his head, “No, satanism wasn’t the  _ something _ . But… it  _ did _ lead me to you.”

Ray perked up.

“And you’re the only one I’ve… opened up to. So…” a pause, “Something’s right about that, isn’t it?”

The gambler smiled. He reached over the short distance that gapped between both of them, taking Luther’s hand in his. “I think so…”

The blonde glanced over at him, his painful grin too obvious not to mention. He stared at the ground while they walked, squeezing Raymond’s hand so tight they could feel each other’s bones. 

Ray knew his partner would never request one earnestly, so he stopped in his tracks. Luther stopped with him, slightly confused, and was pulled into a hug. The blonde took a moment to process the action, and when it was accepted, he wrapped his arms so tightly around the gambler he thought they would mend together. A pale face was pushed against a damp collar, hiding from the world as the wind died down to a gentle breeze. 

Neither of them let go for a long, long while. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


They arrived back at the base, tired and closer. They retired the lantern, unlocked the door, and returned their coats and keys and maps to their respective places. Their clothes were still wet, utterly cold, and unbearably uncomfortable. With quick-paced feet, they hurried up the stairs and to their room. 

“We don’t got any other clothes, do we?” Ray asked once inside. 

“No, not until Mabel takes us to town,” Luther answered, already unbuttoning his shirt.

The gambler groaned, “I’m `bout ready to get rid of this damn outfit.” He referred to the entire suit: shoes, trousers, coat, undershirt, and hat. 

“A couple of days, a couple of days. She goes every Sunday,” Luther said. Uncaringly, he threw the shirt off, laying it upon the floor. “Let what you have on right now dry overnight.”

“And climb into bed with you bare?” Ray queried jokingly.

“That was the plan,” Luther affirmed playfully.

The gambler grinned, head swimming with thoughts. He casually unbuttoned his shirt, not pushing the subject.

The talk they had while heading back home cleared up a few things for the gambler. He understood why Luther was so reluctant upon sharing that information. It certainly was more of a mess than he expected, and it certainly explained his attitude. He compared Luther’s story to his own—Ray tried to be stoic and distant and in the end it only made him more emotional and predictable, while Luther was forced to be that way and it made him untrusting of others. It wasn’t something Raymond necessarily considered before.

The walk home after that was pleasant, to both of their surprises. Not much sadness reined, not much regret carried on. It was lifting, as it had been for the gambler. Luther didn’t try to avoid the subject or switch it to something else like he had many times before, he just let it drift away as it pleased. And it did; most of his angry past was carried away by the snow and left him with all the room in the world to think of other things. Better things. The entire way Luther held onto Raymond’s hand, moved with him, danced with him. It was a whimsical mood that the blonde had worked up to, reciting his emotional weightlessness. The gambler knew his partner was doing all this because it was the exact same feeling he himself went through after spilling his story. And he was beyond happy for Luther. He witnessed his lover so joyous, so careless, and it warmed him. Once in the pods, the feelings calmed, but only due to the drowsiness. And Mr. Stagmire was back to being his usual self.

But now? Well, Raymond assumed they would be sleeping soon after such an eventful night. The wee hours of the morning had crept upon them and that emotional (or lack of) episode was draining. Of course, however, he was proven wrong, currently pushed against the wall, being kissed and touched by his partner. Luther had simply walked over, nearly completely undressed, and coaxed Ray to the wall by the door.

The sweet kiss pushed heat throughout his body, but those light touches sent a tickling chill down his spine. Luther’s hands were grazing Ray’s skin beneath his shirt, slowly removing it, inch by inch. The gambler’s hands were up at the blonde’s face, cupping his head below his jaw and keeping him there to indefinitely continue that deep, passionate kiss. 

As his shirt was discarded and their kiss was parted for a moment, Raymond slipped his shoes off. Right then, Luther’s hands went for the start of his partner’s pants, and things couldn’t be stopped from then. 

Soon, they were both dressed down to the same extent, and Raymond’s heart was beating faster and faster. The heat pulsed through his body, all being fueled by the man in front of him, and he loved it so. It was a warmth that stole him away and held him for a while, bringing him close company. He lifted his partner from his feet and carried him to the bed, crawling in with him and smothering him with kisses, nips, and caresses. Luther ate it up, becoming the sole victim of all the attention. 

Raymond touched the blonde’s chest, feeling the scars that intrigued him for so long. Luther let him, never arguing or hiding himself. He watched the gambler’s hands run up and over the scars, nothing more than tight skin raised into multiple lines to him, but interesting and definable characteristics to Raymond. 

They eventually worked themselves to both sit up with Luther on Ray’s lap, pale legs spread over his waist. They were both entirely undressed at that point, kissing one another with a hunger, holding each other in their blind intimacy. Raymond was, for one, very much enjoying himself. He was excited, and he was in love. Soon enough, he’d give those same feelings to Luther by rocking the bed with him.


	18. Supply & Demand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ecclesiastes 12:14

“How’s this, how’s this?” Raymond held up a jacket of bright red with a white undershirt and red buttons. 

Luther scrunched his nose up, half-laughing, “No no no! For the last time, no color! That’s too flashy!”

“C`mon! I’ve been wearin` brown and black and white all my life!” Ray huffed, hanging the jacket back on its rack.

The store owner, who’s name was Mrs. Connor, walked over from behind the counter. “You two, you two, come here,” she beckoned, “You bicker like a married couple, let me help.”

Sunday rolled by and the three satanists rode into the tiny town of Springdale. Splotches of white snow dotted the red land all over, but most of it was gone by today. Mabel had her cart parked over by the 24-hour bar and inn, visiting a farm shop to gather more food and supplies for her animals and themselves. Meanwhile, the other two were at a small shop, full of clothes, nicknacks, trinkets, and all sorts of things. Mrs. Connor introduced herself right away when they walked in and told them to call for her if they needed help. But then, she called herself over. 

The small, curvy woman with tightly done-up blonde hair made her way across the room, the other two following shortly behind. Her heels clicked against the nice wooden floor, and she walked with style. Mrs. Connor spun around the racks, her light eyes intently searching. “Here, here, you,” she addressed Luther, who went closer. The woman pulled a bright white dress shirt—quite like his own—from a rack, then a pair of dark, grey-blue jeans, and handed both to him. “There, not a lot of color, find those in your size. You, you,” she addressed Raymond and led him a few paces away to a different rack.

The gambler looked over at Luther and grinned, raising his eyebrows, before being caught off guard with clothes. Mrs. Connor put a pair of dark, grey-brown jeans and a cream-colored dress shirt with half-sleeves in his hands. “Some flavor in the shirt should fit you well. Find a size that fits and put them on, changing room’s back there,” she pointed to the back of the building, near the desk to a door with a small, round sign on it. “Then, both of you, come back out and we’ll add some flare.”

Raymond chuckled to himself. “Thank you, Mrs. Connor.” She walked off.

They found their sizes and rehung the others, then went off to the changing room. Raymond was the first to go in. 

He opened the door and stepped inside, shutting the door. The tiny room hardly had enough space, with a rack at one side, a bench at the other, and a tall mirror in front of him. He quickly changed, looking in the mirror, adjusting little things to his liking; shirt tucked in, collar down, buttoned up all the way. He walked out, leaving his old clothes to fetch later, and he and Luther traded spots. 

Mrs. Connor called across the room, “Mr. Earnest! What size shoe do you and your friend wear?”

Ray knocked on the door to the changing room, relaying the question to his partner. “14,” Luther said.

“12 and 14!” the gambler called back.

The short woman came back with a few things soon after. She had two pairs of the same shoes, then some cloth and ties, and laid them out on a bench not too far away. Ray hovered about her as she presented everything: two pairs of deep black, leather shoes with wooden soles—one pair with a heel, the other without, a number of ascot ties in different colors, and a couple of intricately-designed cloths looking somewhat like unfinished ties mixed with handkerchiefs.

Mrs. Connor turned to Raymond and tapped roughly just above his chest, making him stand straight. She smoothed out some wrinkles and bumps in his shirt, straightened his collar, then stepped back and looked him up and down. She appeared to be thinking for a moment, brow furrowed as she did. Then, she snapped her fingers, whispering, “Needs a belt…” and scampered off.

Ray exhaled a breathy chuckle, turning to a mirror on the wall. He peered at himself again, fixing his hair a bit before the small woman came trotting back, a few different-colored belts in hand. Raymond made sure he was upright and still for her to do her work; she held the belts up to his waist, ultimately and feverishly choosing a black one, murmuring to herself, “Match the shoes…” She gave Ray the belt and set the others down on the bench.

Ray grinned, having fun with it. As he slipped the belt on, he commented, “You definitely know what you’re doin`.”

“Oh, thank you,” she responded, caught off guard but humble, “I plan to move to New York City next summer to open a bigger shop.”

“Clear to New York?” Ray queried, “Ain’t that a distance?”

“Anything’s possible,” she sighed, “Besides, sounds like you came from far away, too. Where, New Orleans?” 

“No, but right state!” the gambler laughed. “You know, that’s always what people point out `bout me, first; my accent.”

“Well, up here we don’t get a lot of southerners. Rare sight, you are. Who wants to be stuck in the cold?” she made conversation, “Though I suppose I  _ am _ wanting to go to New York…”

“Haha, I wanna be stuck in the cold! So pretty up here.”

“Sun shines brighter down there, though,” she smiled, then looked over at the shoes. “Oh, oh, here. These are yours with the heel,” she handed him the pair, “Don’t need your friend any taller,” she winked, just as Luther was walking out of the changing room. His colors didn’t look much different, just brighter, if you would. However, something made Mrs. Connor hiss. “Where’s your suspenders?”

“Oh, in there—”

“Get them, get them! You look marvelous with those!”

Raymond chuckled as he pulled his shoes on. Luther spun on his heels, returning to the changing room. He snatched the suspenders and walked back out, proceeding to put them on. The short woman went over to help and quicken the process, then pushed him over next to Raymond. “Put those shoes on, put them on,” she beckoned, and the blonde did as he was told. 

Meanwhile, Mrs. Connor grabbed a few colors of ascots, holding each up to Raymond’s chest. She was indecisive for only moments, narrowing her options to either a crimson red or navy blue ascot. She tossed the others to the bench right as Luther had his footwear on and stood up. The short woman leaned in closer to him, asking herself, “What color are your eyes…” and a second later, “Blue! Of course blue.”

Long ascots in hand, she draped one over her shoulder and first went to Raymond. With precise movements and zipping hands she tied the navy-blue tie around his collar, then let it drape down. It was definitely longer than he imagined but she seemed satisfied—and she knew  _ much _ more about style than he did, so he didn’t question it. She tied a matching ascot the same way with Luther and stepped back. 

She placed a finger on her chin and tapped her foot. The short woman shook her head at Raymond. “Missing… something…” A moment more of quiet until her quick brain fired off and she reached for the bench. She lifted a light-blue cloth, going up to the gambler. “It’s just a standard piece for decoration, but I’ve seen this in fashion in a few places,” she explained as she pulled the cloth through his belt at his left hip, letting it fall halfway at either side. She hopped back, again, and her eyes lit up. With a smile, she bit her lip and pushed the two over to the mirror, standing off to the side with a bit of a bounce. “How’s that, sirs?”

Both satanists were smiling, brows raised and impressed. They looked brighter, cleaner, and they even matched. Luther laughed, “Mrs. Connor, I’m very happy with this!”

“Made us look fantastic,” Ray added.

She clasped her hands together, “Great! Wonderful!” Her commanding nature was dropped as she danced over to the bench, taking the extras. “Anything more for you two, then?”

“We’ll just grab a few extra clothes, pajamas, that sort. Thank you so much,” Luther said.

“Thank  _ you _ ,” she corrected, scurrying off with the items.

The satanists went back to the changing room and threw on their old clothes, trying to fold up the new ones as neatly as possible. They wandered around, grabbing a few extra garments: some the same, some heavier, pajamas, and a couple of other things. They didn’t worry about payment—they had money leftover and Mabel was loaded, so they could enjoy plenty of luxuries… within reason. Ms. Ackerman had a slight “innocuous act” she wanted to keep, not daring to appear to be anything out of the norm to the town of Springdale. 

They waved their goodbyes to Mrs. Connor and set off with bags in hand, very happy with their grab. But, Raymond saw something that piqued his interest just as they were heading out. He had a sudden idea and kept quiet, figuring up a plan silently.

The two of them walked out and through the clearing in the middle of the village. The placement of the buildings was split to allow passage of the main road, stretching from the west to the northeast. The satanists made their way to the buggy, putting their bags in the back just as Mabel was walking out. An older man followed behind her, hauling a bag of feed over each shoulder. “There you two are,” she addressed the satanists, “Help out with filling crates. We’ve got plenty of bags in there.”

They jumped to it, parading in and out of the farm shop, loading bags of corn into the empty crates of the cart, letting the shop owner who was originally helping off the hook. 

When the last of the bags were being put up, Raymond quickly announced, “I think I forgot somethin`…” and felt his pockets in a fake act, “Gimme a second, I’ll be right back.”

Luther had already hopped in the back, taking a seat. “Take your time,” he allowed.

“Hurry up,” Mabel ordered in a friendly manner.

The gambler breathily chuckled and turned around, jogging across the empty road to Mrs. Connor’s clothes and trinkets shop. The bell chimed as he opened the door and gained the head-raising attention of the short woman. “Oh, you again!” she greeted. “Forget something?”

“No, Mrs. I actually saw somethin` on my way out,” he tapped his chin as he looked around, searching for this  _ something _ . Ah, there it was. Upon a desk on display with small price tags tied to each item: a small inkwell full of pure black ink, a journal made of mahogany-colored leather and cream-colored papers, and the most intricate writing instrument he’d ever seen. A pen, the tip twisted and coiled into a point, the shaft clear and smooth, and the end coming into the shape of a feather—all made entirely out of glass. It appeared the feather had been stained to hold a frosty yellow glow, adding the perfect charm to something so peculiar.

Mrs. Connor was wandering over. Raymond asked, “Is this just for display?”

“Oh, no, you can buy that,” she said, “Would you like to?”

“Yeah. I think…” he thought. “Is it good for the, uh… creative type?”

“As in drawing?”

“Yeah,” Ray answered.

“Well, I’m no artist myself, but,” she lifted the pen with care, “I’m sure if it can be used for writing, it can be used for drawing.”

The gambler smiled, “Great. Yes, I want it. And these,” he picked up the inkwell and journal. 

“Right this way,” the short woman led him back to the counter. Quickly enough he bought the items and hid them away in a bag, waved goodbye to Mrs. Connor for the second time and left the shop.

Mabel and Luther were settled in the buggy, ready to head off. Ray hurried over, trying his best to be careful with the bag as he didn’t know how fragile the pen was, and hopped in. The blonde commented with a tease, “Did you forget something or did you buy something?”

Raymond placed the bag on the seat next to him, away from Luther. “That one you’ll have to figure out,” he told the blonde, mimicking him from the other night. His partner bit his lip and shook his head as Mabel hit the reins.

  
  


* * *

  
  


When they arrived home the satanists threw out their old clothes, bathed, and tossed on their new outfits. Mabel seemed to like it to an extent, nowhere near as jolly and impressed about it as the two men were, but her positive feedback only egged on their gushy attitudes. 

They went to the kitchen to make up lunch. Raymond had left his small bag on the dining table, and when they sat down and got comfortable, he slowly pushed it over to Luther. The blonde looked up from his meal and grinned at the gambler in delighted surprise. “Oh?”

Ray nodded to him, “Go `head.”

Luther showed his teeth in his smirk, carefully taking the bag in his lap and opening it. He saw what was inside, glancing up at Raymond first before pulling each item out. The leather journal and the inkwell came first and went on the table, but the glass pen was delicately held in steady fingers. “...Ray!” Luther cheered, setting the bag by his feet. He admired the pen, clearly enjoying it and making the gambler all-the-more happy with his find.

“Saw it on our way out of the Connor’s shop. Thought you’d do good with it.”

“It’s…!” The blonde was smiling from ear to ear and chuckling gleefully. “It’s so pretty, Ray~” he looked over to his partner, “Thank you, baby.”

“ _ Baby? _ ” Mabel echoed before Raymond could. “How endearing of a term for someone who used my money?” she asked, though her tone wasn’t an accusatory one.

“No no,” Ray assured, “Came from my pocket.”

“Hm,” she smirked, “Good to hear,  _ baby _ ,” she taunted. 

“Don’t make fun of what I call him!” Luther sneered.

“Just funny coming from you,” she pointed out, then peered at Raymond, “He wasn’t nearly as lovely last I saw him three years ago.”

“Oh, really?” he teased Luther, “Treating the miss bad, huh?”

“No worse than she’s treated me,” the blonde put the pen down graciously.

“Ah yes. How horrible your life must be that I allowed you into my own home without any favors,” she raised a brow, “ _ Twice _ , now.”

Luther looked to Raymond for help, but the gambler shrugged. “She’s only got me once,” he chuckled.

He threw his hands up in a joking manner. “The whole world’s out to get me,” he exclaimed. 

They shared a laugh and continued with their lunch. Raymond added one last thing, “Glad you like it,” he paused, “ _ Baby~ _ ”

“Oh, quiet you,” Luther said frivolously while leaning over to plant a kiss on Ray’s cheek. The gambler grinned lovingly and the day went on.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Evening raced by, and the three of them were in the lounge. Luther sat Raymond down at one end of the couch and positioned himself at the other end. The blonde pulled the end table over in front of his seat to set his inkwell on, taking the journal and pen in hand. “Alright. First page of this book should be dedicated to the one who got it for me,” he said, settling down, “And to the one I love greatly~”

Ray chuckled, “Oh, never drawn  _ me _ before?” he teased.

The blonde raised his eyebrows, lowly saying, “I have, but those are for when I get lonely,” he laughed.

“Luther!” Ray scolded lightly.

Mabel was adjacent to them in her own seat, minding her business with a notebook in hand, scribbling things down.

The gambler asked, “How still I gotta sit?”

“Not at all. I’m not doing anything like that,” Luther answered, already beginning, “I might just ask you to turn your head every now and then, though.”

“Sounds good,” he responded. Though, he had nothing to do now. He supposed he could try to make conversation, seeing Ms. Ackerman over by her lonesome. “What’re you workin` on, miss?”

“Oh, jotting notes,” she said, not looking up from her paper, “About someone who’s been in Springdale for a few days now.”

“Oh?” Luther voiced.

“I said hello to Andrew while we were in town. He let me know about a suspicious-looking guy who stopped by yesterday. Terrance Moore, a man about his age, been really quiet.”

“Someone we need to worry `bout?” Ray asked.

“Andrew thinks so. Said this guy was hiding something, came in with a big bag and a few guns. Andrew wouldn’t have been worried if the same guy didn’t spill some of his story while he was drunk last night.”

“What’d he say?” Luther asked.

Mabel looked over her notes, “Stole some things, threatened a coachman to drive him here, asked Andrew if he could sell things discreetly and anonymously.”

“Just a thief?” the blonde seemed disappointed.

“A thief with a gun who’s probably willing to hurt people who get in his way. Andrew asked a few things; the guy’s got no family who will take him, no home anymore, and no job. Our friend wants him gone, so…” she tapped the notebook with her pencil, “...I’ll be heading into town tomorrow afternoon. We’ll have ourselves a newcomer by tomorrow night.”

“Plans on taking him?”

“Andrew said the guy was happy if he could bed someone. Andrew worried about that, too, having that guy going around and trying to take his daughters. So, I’ll probably play like that to get his interest. Bring him up here where there’s ‘privacy,’” she said amusingly.

“Want help with that?” the blonde asked. 

“I’ll try to drug him once he’s in here. You two will just need to camp out in your room and stay silent until I get you. Then you can assist.”

Raymond asked, “Will you be… usin` him for experiments?”

“That’s usually how it goes,” Ms. Ackerman shrugged, “But you want to see the possession part of it, don’t you?”

Ray averted his gaze, sheepish. “That’s all I’ve been hearin`…”

“It’s okay to say ‘yes,’ you know?” she tried.

“He’s modest,” Luther told her, “He always has a bit of shame for these things. Which is completely fine,” he assured.

Raymond put on a painted smile to acknowledge those words. 

After a bit of staring into the fire and having other meaningless conversations, Luther was finished. He lifted his pen far from the paper and set it down on the table next to the inkwell. He fanned the open journal, drying the wet ink a bit, before shimmying across the couch to Raymond. “Done already?” the gambler asked, surprised.

“Well, I didn’t add much shading, and I didn’t connect half of my lines correctly, but…” he stopped upon looking up at Ray’s blank face.

Raymond sort of laughed, “I mean… I’m lost.”

Luther chuckled and bumped up against him, “Wanna see it?”

“Of course!”

The blonde, with a big smile, presented his illustration with the same happiness a child would. He’d drawn on the very first page, just like he said, and upon seeing the artwork Raymond’s eyes lit up. It was him—which, he wasn’t surprised by that, so to say—but it  _ looked _ a  _ lot _ like him! It was lifelike yet so simple. Black lines outlined different aspects of his face and head so well, it made Raymond feel… prettier! Honestly, it did! This simple headshot of the gambler looking slightly down with half-closed eyes and a humble grin made him smile bigger than Luther was. He took the journal and laughed delightedly, throwing an arm around his partner. “All that in such a short time?”

The blonde giggled, “You like it?”

“Looks just like me!” he hopped up and hurried to Mabel, “Look at this, look at this!”

Ms. Ackerman smiled upon seeing the picture, “He’s always had that touch as far as I know.”

“I could frame that!” Ray bounced back over. “Shoot, I can hardly draw a stick-figure.”

The blonde chuckled, “I think that means I did good~” He stood and put the lid over the inkwell, moved the table, and took the pen. “Let me wash this off,” he said, mainly to himself, as he passed Raymond while rubbing shoulders with him. 

The gambler put himself back on the couch, studying the picture. Deep black ink against nearly-white paper stood out so well—every little sketch-stroke could be seen, and Luther made sure to make the finished outline more pronounced. Just below the headshot was the name  _ Ray _ , written with a few swirls and decorative marks next to it. His partner had such neat handwriting.

  
  


* * *

  
  


The day came and went without much strife. Nightfall rolled around, bringing the same cold weather. Since the passing days, the couple was able to fill their room with a few things. Some books, some writing utensils, a few minuscule decorations, and a calendar. Raymond peered over at it and was somewhat surprised. “Goodness! Thanksgiving isn’t this week, is it?”

“It’s the 22nd, today, isn’t it?”

“Yeah…” Ray sighed, “The year rolled right by, didn’t it? If it weren’t so cold, I’d still think it was summer and we were meetin` in that bar at Vegas.”

“Ah, those were the days, weren’t they?” Luther was on his back on the bed, sprawled out and comfortable, “Money on the table, death at our throats,” he tickled the air with his hands as he moved them, “ _ Warm _ .”

“You and everyone complain `bout how cold it is.”

“Me and everyone didn’t get the luxury of staying in a state where winter reached a low of 40º.”

Ray laughed, “That’s just not true. It got cold down there.” He sat himself on the bed.

“I guess 40º  _ would _ be considered cold for you,” Luther egged on.

Raymond smiled and shook his head, leaning over to threaten his partner with an onslaught of kisses and hugs. The blonde joyously accepted the punishment, and soon Ray was laying atop of Luther, arms around his torso and head on his collarbone. Neither of them had enough energy to move about. The gambler asked, “What are we gonna do for Thanksgiving?”

The blonde answered simply, “I dunno. Fix a slightly bigger lunch?” he joked.

Raymond sighed. “Anything the town’s doin`?”

“I dunno. Forgot to ask.”

“Do you celebrate  _ anythin`? _ ” 

“I dunno.”

“Ugh,” the gambler groaned, “Well, imma make you.”

“Ray,” Luther patted his back, “I don’t think satanists are gonna go to church and have a meal.”

“...We could pretend… Besides, wouldn’t it be weird if we didn’t? Wouldn’t them townsfolk think something was off?”

“I don’t think they care. Since they live so far away from a big city with a big church, they just do their own thing.”

“Then we can do our own thing…”

The blonde sighed, “Like what?”

“…”

“…?”

“...I dunno…”

Luther chuckled, “Poor Ray. What’re you gonna do for Christmas?”

“ _ Christmas! _ ” the gambler buried his face in his partner’s shirt, “Tell me you celebrate Christmas!”

“Sorry, Ray,” his partner went, “I don’t think I’ve touched that holiday since… ever.”

Raymond groaned. “We gotta at least… give gifts… and stuff.”

“You already got me something today! That should cover Christmas.”

“ _ And stuff! _ ” Ray pointed out.

Luther drummed on his partner’s back. “Too good. You’re too good…” he sighed, “I don’t know. We’ll… figure something out for you.”

“Not just for me, you know,” Ray said, “I don’t just wanna… leave you guys without anythin`…”

“I know, baby. We’ll figure something out for all of us, when it comes.”

The gambler sighed, and all was quiet. Raymond ran his finger over the fabric of Luther’s nightshirt. The last sentence he said ran through the gambler’s head over and over again, until all he could remember was the conversation at lunch. “Baby…?” he repeated aloud, smiling as he did so. “If that’s my name, what’s yours?”

The blonde was playing with Raymond’s hair. “Whatever you want…” he spoke softly and sweetly, “I was trying to think of something more creative than that. Like, I wanted to mix your name with ‘baby’ and make ‘Rayby.’ But… that sounds like ‘rabies,’ and rabies doesn’t sound too appetizing.”

The gambler laughed aloud, agreeing, “Yeah, probably best you stay away from that one…!”

Luther chuckled with him, “I don’t know what else…”

Ray listened to his partner’s heartbeat, the steady rhythm very calming. He hummed, “Can I call you Dawn?”

“Tch…” The drowsiness in his voice could easily be heard, “Any other candidates?”

“Flittermouse.”

“What? Why that?”

Ray grinned cheekily, “`Cause it’s a bat, and you’re as pale as a vampire.”

“Oh please!” Luther pushed him off of his chest and rolled over on top of Raymond. “Just call me Dawn, you scamp~”

“Dawn it is~ And I like scamp, too…!”

“Shh…” the blonde beckoned, pecking his lips before shutting his tired eyes and resting his forehead against Ray’s. The gambler ran his hands down his partner’s back and lifted him as he moved to the front of the bed. Under the covers they went, warm and comfortable, holding each other.

By the time Raymond realized the lamp was still burning, Luther was already asleep. He silently sighed, not wanting to move and wake the blonde but knowing he’d have to. Just as he was about to get up, quietly cursing the light, the fire of the lamp went out. Slightly surprised but too tired to care, he didn’t even consider that he had used those ever-growing abilities of his to put out the golden flame.

  
  


* * *

  
  


The next night, the satanists were in their room again—like usual. Except, that night, they were dressed and ready for action. They were waiting for Mabel to show up with her new friend, busying themselves with short talks and questions about what would happen. Raymond, of course, was very curious and somewhat nervous about the situation. He asked what to do if things went wrong, like if Mr. Moore suddenly turned against Mabel and they needed to help. Luther guaranteed that he wouldn’t be a problem. He said he’s seen Mabel work, and she wouldn’t let anything get out of hand. Ray assumed that meant powers, but the blonde corrected that thought. Ms. Ackerman didn’t have  _ abilities _ , Luther said, she just had  _ benefits _ . She only ever contacted lesser demons rather than acquiring a patron and used those demons to gather knowledge, information, tips and tricks, items, and other things. No “magic bullsh-t,” as Luther so delicately stated.

Though that information  _ slightly _ eased Raymond’s worries, it only brought new ones. On the slim chance that things  _ did _ go south, she had no way to protect herself without a weapon. And even them—based on the conversation from last night—Mr. Moore seemed to be armed himself.

Mabel left early in the afternoon, and the other two knew she wouldn't be back until much later. After a while, they hid themselves in their room like they were instructed. Maybe a bit… too soon. They must have been cooped up in that room for nearly two hours, fearing to go out lest Mabel and Mr. Moore suddenly walked into the house. Raymond caught himself drifting off after a while and ultimately took a quick cat nap. 

He woke up to movement in the bed and something placed upon his face. He opened his eyes and saw the familiar blonde hair and friendly blue eyes hovering over him. Luther’s hand was on Ray’s face, covering his mouth, and his warm smile hid something more—Raymond could tell instantly. Luther brought his other hand to his own lips, placing a finger over them. The gambler knew to stay quiet as the blonde’s hand was removed.

His partner laid down beside him, on his side. Raymond turned to do the same. “...Mabel’s home…” Luther whispered oh-so quietly. 

The gambler listened extremely intently, lying very still. Faintly, almost inaudibly, he could hear voices: a man and a woman’s. It took a few long moments for Ray to realize the woman’s voice was Mabel’s, as she sounded so jolly and flattering. To him she sounded so out of character; so… fake. And then there was the man’s. Ray heard his voice less prominently than Mabel’s, with how low and guttural it was. Raymond couldn’t make out what either of them were saying.

He and Luther continued to lay there, still as could be, just gazing at each other. The blonde seemed entirely content and relaxed, and it was easy to tell that the gambler was quite the opposite. He counted the seconds and waited.

Around twenty minutes passed before he heard footsteps approaching. In the hallway, closer and closer, closing in on their door…

A knock, and a voice. “Alright, boys. Come on out.” It was Mabel’s.

Luther smiled and sat up, hopping out of the bed. Raymond followed suit, very relieved to hear her. They stepped over to the door and the blonde opened it, revealing the very colorful Ms. Ackerman. She’d dressed up before she left, wearing a white, high bustle dress with ruffled sleeves. A collection of small, colorful, faux flowers ran from her collar to her waist, and a white hat with the same flowers was upon her head. She had her hair done up and bright earrings hanging from either side of her head—which she was currently removing.

“There you are,” Luther greeted, “How’d it go?”

“Fine,” she answered, “He’s such a f-cking pervert.” She turned and started down the hallway.

The other two followed her. “Makes it easier on you, doesn’t it?” the blonde continued.

“Usually! But he took  _ plenty _ of convincing,” she stopped in front of her bedroom door, “He’s at the dining table. You two, take him and his things downstairs for me? I’ll meet you down there after I change.”

“Will do,” Luther nodded, and gestured for Ray to follow. They galloped over to the stairs and skipped down them, the gambler slightly concerned about the rushed nature. They made their way from one room to the next and found Mr. Moore face-down on the kitchen table. 

They approached, Raymond being cautious while Luther carelessly danced over. Upon closer look, the gambler got a good look at him. Terrance Moore was… not a great-looking guy. He seemed to have the potential to be very flattering, but just didn’t keep himself clean. His scraggly, black beard was ridden with specs of dust and food, and his hair was tangly and unkempt. He owned old clothes that had been stained and patched up multiple times, and wore a large, armed belt like a gunslinger. Dirt was trapped beneath his fingernails and his hands were covered in creases and calluses. A large leather bag about half the size of the chair he sat in was at his feet, and a double-hammered shotgun was slung over his back. He had a plate of half-eaten food in front of him, and a nearly empty glass of liquor adjacent to the plate. 

Luther pushed Mr. Moore back in the chair, making his limp body sit up. Ray could see him breathing and knew he was alive, though Luther handled the man like he wasn’t. The blonde looted the body, taking the shotgun and belt from the man. The belt had a filled holster at its left side, holding a single-action revolver. Luther left both firearms on the table, then went for the leather bag. He picked it up, although it took some effort, and set it back down. The blonde looked at Ray, “Wanna take him or the bag?”

Ray sorta grinned, “The bag, I s’pose.”

“Alright. Run it down; I’ll drag him to the stairs.”

The gambler nodded and picked up the sack of anonymous items, walking out of the kitchen. His tight grip on the bag reflected his jittery demeanor, simply following tasks in hopes of not thinking too much. Thinking turned to overanalyzing, and that turned to paranoia, and he just wasn’t in the mood to go down that route. He went around to the library and found the hidden handle, pulled the case open, and peered down the dark staircase. Dark…

Oh boy, paranoia came sooner than he expected. He stared for a moment, taking a breath, then stepping down. Ray stayed close to the wall, feeling it as not to lose his footing once he was swallowed up in the blackness. It consumed him and he didn’t fight back, allowing himself to sink further and further. Once he turned the corner and was completely engulfed, the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck raised. He could close his eyes and have the same amount of advantage as he did right then. The frigid temperature didn’t help his nervousness. And yet, he continued, down and down… 

Raymond felt an undeniable sense of fear when his hand passed the wall. In an almost panicked manner he grabbed for the corner, finding it and letting out a cold sigh of relief. He dropped the bag off right around the intersection, creating an imaginary outline of what he was supposed to be looking at. Then, he found the stairs and quickly-yet-carefully made his way up. If only those damn candles could light up…

And just then, there was light. It started from the base of the stairs and stopped at where Raymond stood. The gambler thought Luther may have been at the top and turned them on, but… why didn’t they go all the way up? Did  _ Ray _ do that?

He vaguely remembered last night… when the lamp suddenly went out… He really did light up the candles just then, didn’t he? It seemed like such a tedious ability to have, but at the moment Ray was both thrilled and… suspicious. Nothing had happened to him to gain that power. At least, he didn’t remember anything happening to him. Did he always have it, maybe? He didn’t know. He continued up the stairs, the candles bursting to life as he passed them.

By the time he’d made it up the stairs Luther was halfway through the library with the body of Mr. Moore coming with him. Raymond hurried up to his partner and took the man by the ankles, lifting him. “Thanks, Ray,” the blonde said, looking over his shoulder for the staircase. “Down we go.”

The two carried him down the stairs, awkwardly fumbling with his heavy body. Luther didn’t seem to notice the candles, already lit, and Ray didn’t make note of it. When they arrived in the base, Luther brought light to the large room and carried Mr. Moore over to the pentagram. They laid the body down and took a breath. Luther was grinning wide, giving Ray a look. “Ready for your first look at a possession?” he asked.

Raymond faked a smile. “Ready as ever…!”

Luther didn’t bother his partner’s distant attitude. He threw his arms over his head and popped his back. “We just get to sit back and watch the show~”

Just then, the clacking off footsteps could be heard coming down the stairs. They both watched as the dark-haired woman made her way down, landing at the base’s floor. She wore a small smile and housed a high chin, looking much more comfortable in her sleek dress and flowing hair. She made her way over. “Okay,” she said, “Here we go.”


	19. Acquired Taste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke 11:24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !Violence Warning!

They’d put Terrance Moore in a simple wooden chair, tied up with rope. His ankles were fastened to the legs of the chair, his arms were behind him with wrists bound together, and the majority of the rope was wrapped around his torso to the chair, keeping him still. 

Mr. Moore was only a few steps away from the pentagram. He’d been stripped of most of his clothes, only in his undergarments and socks. He was still unconscious but was beginning to slowly come out of it; his head swayed every now and then and he made small, pitiful grunts.

Mabel was walking around the tables lined against the walls, gathering a few things and bringing them over. One of the items she carried were glass vials, upon which she carried three, none taller than the length of her hand and filled with a clear liquid. She handed one to either of the satanists. “What’s this?” Raymond asked.

“Holy water,” Mabel answered, “Sometimes demons will come after us rather than their bait.”

Ray looked at the vial in his hand, wondering how a little water could repel a demon. “This works?”

“Yeah,” Luther chimed, “Just throw it on them and it hurts like hell. Sometimes they catch on fire—”

“ _ What? _ ” Ray asked.

“Yeah!” the blonde laughed, “Backwards, isn’t it?”

The gambler definitely felt a  _ bit _ safer after hearing that, knowing that the water was effective. He watched as Mabel walked over to one of the long braids that touched the floor from the ceiling—a strung-out mass of different kinds of metal: small sheets, rusted components, outdated coins, and bullets. She took a small knife that she had on hand and cut the braid, taking the divided piece and dragging it to the pentagram. The dark-haired woman tossed it carelessly into the center, then glared at Mr. Moore. 

Raymond, a bit confused at what she was doing, tilted his head. Luther filled in the details, “Demon’s love this sort of stuff,” he said, “Anything earthly and materialistic they’ll chase.”

“Why’s that?” Ray asked.

“Hell’s a wasteland. Can’t produce anything. Demons are left with what they die with or anything they can grab when they come to Earth.”

“So, the braids are just…?” he didn’t finish, not knowing how to word it.

“Worms on a hook, and those demons are the fish.”

Ms. Ackerman reached Mr. Moore, taking the point of the knife and pushing it into his bicep deeply. The gambler looked away, feeling like he could have gagged at the slowness of the act. The near-naked man woke within an instant, unaware and droopy. Mabel quickly swiped the knife down the muscle of his arm, causing him to howl in pain, his voice echoing through the chamber. His dark, wild eyes were wide and frantically scanning the room, his entire body tensing. Mr. Moore saw Mabel just as she was putting the knife away. “What the hell?! What are you doing?!” he saw Raymond and Luther, and that’s when he began thrashing. He realized he was stuck but it didn’t stop him; he rocked and bounced the chair while Mabel took a folded cloth from her pocket, pure white. Mr. Moore was screaming obscenities and was desperately but futilely attempting to free himself. Ms. Ackerman took the rag and wiped it over the wound on his arm, staining it with bright red blood. The bound man thrashed her direction, shouting at her like a barking dog, and fell over in the chair. Mabel had quickly stepped out of the way and had no use for him anymore, so she just let him lay there and stepped to the pentagram. 

Raymond felt the inclination to say something but he didn’t know what or why. He stayed quiet and watched with distaste.

The near-naked man groaned and continued to scream, not bothering to assess his surroundings. Mabel nodded to her friends—Luther got the message and uncapped the vial. Raymond took a moment to realize he should do the same.

The dark-haired woman tossed the bloodied rag into the pentagram, hastily shuffling away and toward the other two with her open vial. 

Raymond watched intently. The candles that made up the shape on the floor slowly started to melt. White wax dripped down from the heat of the red flames, dripping onto the floor. A few drops turned into several drops, and those several turned into an immeasurable amount until the candles were melting profusely without receding. The liquid wax was surging inward and completely coating the floor in a large, filled circle. When the pentagram had been entirely coated in a thin coat of wet wax the candles stopped melting and stood tall. Nobody moved or said a word—except, of course, for Mr. Moore who wasn’t paying any attention to the wonders happening in front of him.

The wax hadn’t dried yet, shimmering and wet as it pooled. For a very long moment nothing happened. Ray found himself constantly losing concentration on the subject at hand because of Mr. Moore and feared he was missing something. However, he caught everything he needed to. 

From the thickening pool rose masses of many things trapped beneath. The wax wasn’t wax-like at all, behaving like elastic. It bent and tightened, keeping the strange masses from breaking through the surface. The pool was drying, and as it did the things beneath the floor only multiplied in numbers and tried more and more to escape. The hardened wax cracked like stone, jittering whispers emitting from beneath its surface. As the wax cracked more the whispers became voices, speaking dozens of different languages, screaming, laughing, singing… It sounded like insanity.

Finally, when the wax had completely dried and was entirely brittle, the masses beneath it were finally able to break free. Hands, heads, and horns burst through the waxy portal. Creatures that could only be described as demons emerged, dozens of them, erupting from the pentagram. Bits of hardened wax flew through the air, partnering with winged beasts that soared with them. 

Raymond instinctively jumped backwards, not expecting the anarchy that was pumping out from the floor. The voices that screamed and laughed could be heard so much clearer now that they were free, and they split through the gambler’s eardrums.

The hellcrawlers came in many different shapes and sizes; some smaller than a child and some larger than a bear. A few crawled across the ground like insects or sick animals, some flew up to the ceiling and clung to it, and others just ran like they were human. The numerous horns, tails, scales, and other strange things that made up their bodies differentiated them from each other. Some of their eyes glowed, some had teeth jutting out from their faces, some looked  _ too _ human. 

The quickest among them scurried to Mr. Moore in a blur. They grabbed him and tore into him, and he responded by screaming. He was coated with multiple demons as they dogpiled onto him, the creatures appearing to be ripping at his skin before dissipating and squirming into the wounds like giant maggots.

Raymond, caught off guard by what he was witnessing, didn’t see the ugly demon flying right at him. It came from the ceiling and dove right onto him, knocking him down onto his back. Immediately it took its skinny claws and shoved them through his mouth. He felt the inside of his cheek and the back of his tongue get cut as the hellcrawler pulled and tried to rip his jaw off. Raymond pushed and kicked in a panic, unable to stop himself staring into the black, animalistic eyes of the thing. They were so monstrous, so different, so  _ wrong _ . 

Luther reacted with lightning-quick reflexes, kicking the demon off of his partner and throwing his holy water onto it. The demon screeched this terrible shriek, sounding like a hybrid between a crying infant and the scraping of metal. Its wrinkly skin smoked where it was touched by the water and it fled back to the pentagram. 

Luther helped Raymond up, the gambler fixing his jaw and shaking off the shock. He realized most of his holy water was spilled when he fell and silently resorted to relying on his powers. He was so on-guard now that he didn’t hear the blonde’s voice when he asked, “You alright?” Ray was entirely too worried about his own safety, his eyes scanning the room for any blurs of movement that may be of threat.

But by the time he was truly ready, all the demons had stripped the braid apart and fled back through the portal. They squirmed and flopped like fish out of water to get back through the cracks in the floor, crushing and smashing their own bodies to do so. The only thing that remained within the pentagram was a string—the last element of the braid. All was still. 

Though Raymond had already healed the minimal damage in his mouth, he could still taste the blood. The metallic tang lingered and reflected his paranoid defense. Even when the danger was over and everything was relatively peaceful, the hairs on his arms were still raised and he still clutched that empty vial. 

Luther gently placed a hand on his partner’s back, making him snap out of it. Mabel didn’t notice Raymond’s obvious paranoia and walked over to Mr. Moore. The blonde brought his hand up to the back of Ray’s neck as the gambler took a deep breath. He turned his head and met those bright blue eyes with his own, paired with a grin on that pale face. “You alright?” Luther asked again.

Raymond nodded slowly. The warm hand on the back of his neck felt soothing. “...That was…” he felt somewhat lighter, not so tense, “...scary,” he sort of laughed, and the blonde laughed with him. 

“You did good!”

“Yeah?”

“Well, good for the only one who got attacked by a demon  _ and _ didn’t get possessed. You’ve got Mr. Moore beat,” Luther joked, “Oh wait, but neither Mabel or I got attacked…”

“That was the f-ckin` scary part!” Ray exhaled, letting his panic go.

Luther hit Ray on the back, smiling all the way. “Well, you’re welcome for saving your ass,” he bantered, “Go see what Mabel’s doing. I’m gonna look through his bag,” he said, walking off.

“Okay,” the gambler responded. He made a sharp sigh, dusted himself off, and followed Ms. Ackerman’s trail.  _ No reason to be upset _ , he told himself—he’d been through worse. 

Mabel was standing a few feet away from the knocked-over near-naked man. Raymond carefully approached, peering past her and at Mr. Moore. He’d been moved from his original spot quite a distance and pushed across the room. He was surprisingly quiet but still very active, his body twitching and shaking. He wasn’t facing the two; both of them kept their distance as they rounded Mr. Moore to his front.

The nearly-naked man was covered in deep cuts, bleeding from every one of them. The demons had torn across his chest, arms, and thighs, treating his skin like weak parchment. His lips were parted and his teeth were bared, clenched, and grinding. His nose was scrunched up and his brow was fluctuating between furrowed and raised—as if he was indecisive about his emotions. The thing that stood out most to Raymond, though, was the man’s eyes. They were bloodshot beyond capability, his irises shaking and eyelids wide open, never blinking. His eyeballs looked as if they would pop right out with the right tap to the back of his head, only to be left hanging from his skull in a bloody mess. 

Raymond tried to get rid of that disturbing thought.

“So he’s… possessed…?” Ray asked quietly. 

“That he is,” Mabel sighed, seemingly disappointed, “I summoned too many demons. I saw at least three go in there.”

“There’s  _ three  _ demons possessing him?” Ray turned his head to her.

“Mhm,” she said, “They cut him open and got in through the wounds. But he’s going to bleed out soon. They mangled him.”

Raymond noticed the blood pooling beneath what was left of Mr. Moore and scrunched his nose up in disgust. “What happens when he bleeds out?”

“The body can’t be used and the demons will flee.”

“ _ Can’t be used _ ? As in, he dies?”

“Yes, demons can’t possess dead organisms.”

Ray looked back at the candles in the middle of the room.“Will they go back in the pentagram once they leave?”

“Probably not. They’ll try to take you or me or Luther, or head to town.”

Oh God. He told himself he’d been through worse than a demon putting their fingers in his gob, but he was begging that he wouldn't have to deal with anything like that again.“...What do we do, then?”

The dark-haired woman folded her arms. “Since this one’s a waste, you and Luther can do whatever the hell you want with him, for as long as he’s here. Then we’ll—”

“Holy sh-t!” Luther’s voice rang through the room, and they both turned to him. “Look at the sh-t he’s got in here!”

Ms. Ackerman, though annoyed with the interruption, called, “Luther, he’s going to bleed out soon. If you want to do anything, you better do it now. We can look in the bag later.”

That statement redirected the blonde’s attention but didn’t completely draw him away. As he stood and began walking over, he said, “He’s got  _ gold bullions _ in there.”

“ _ What? _ ” Mabel and Raymond both voiced. 

“I know!” Luther laughed, “But you said he’s gonna die?”

“Give him 10 minutes.”

“Well, sh-t!” the blonde saw the cuts on his body, “Let’s get him outside! Bring the angels! Ray, sit him up,” he hopped back over to the bag. 

Ray blinked, caught off guard with the command. He turned and went behind the chair, hearing Mr. Moore’s heavy, animalistic breathing. “Be careful,” Mabel warned.

Raymond stopped his motions. “...Careful of what, specifically?”

“Don’t get your fingers close to his teeth or hands, unless you want to lose them.”

Ray gave Mr. Moore a look, taking that warning very seriously. He grabbed the chair, awkwardly and difficulty putting him upright. Mr. Moore began growling and speaking, but it was in some strange language. No, now it was English. Wait, now he was speaking Spanish? Mr. Moore switched between these tongues, harboring a voice that was reminiscent of but not completely his own.

Luther called to Ray, “Untie his feet and hands!”

“What are you doing?” Mabel stepped away from the possessed man, shaking her head.

“I’m gonna bring him outside!” the blonde had taken something from the bag and was hiding it behind his back; Raymond didn’t see what it was. The gambler did what his partner said, going to untie the man’s ankles first. As soon as he got one foot free, he was kicked as Mr. Moore started thrashing again. Ray wasn’t knocked over and tried to get the other, doing so successfully, but this time he  _ was _ knocked down. The possessed man’s foot caught the gambler’s neck and made him gasp, then the other was thrown straight into his chest and pushed him down. Mr. Moore’s crazy expression showed all his teeth as he laughed maniacally at Raymond, staring through him without a single blink.

Ray got up and dusted himself off, thinking to himself that Mr. Moore would have kicked him even if he wasn’t possessed. He stepped behind the man, again, and figured out how to untie his wrists. He took Ms. Ackerman seriously and wondered how he would be able to avoid the man’s hands so he didn’t lose his own. 

Raymond had an idea and summoned his hands from the floor, nervous as he did, seeing if he could control them. The odd grabbers appeared—a few more than the gambler wanted, but he worked with it. He made two of the hands bait themselves into Mr. Moore’s; it worked! Possessed hands latched onto the summoned hands. Even as they tried to escape, the near-naked man kept an iron grip. Raymond was able to carefully pull apart the rope, particularly disturbed at how the hands fought. Though it appeared—and sounded—like Mr. Moore’s fingers were bending and breaking, he never let go of his grasp.

Raymond was able to easily untie the last of the ropes, and in the process, Luther told them, “You guys best hurry after me!” And with that, he waved his arms in the air. One of his hands wielded a gold bullion and he flaunted it. Mr. Moore yipped and thrashed, clearly wanting that gold. Ray pulled the rope apart and made the hands recede, and as soon as he did, the possessed man threw himself out of the chair. In a twisted, horribly-navigated, and hungry manner he ran after the blonde.

Blue eyes went wide but a smug smirk stayed and Luther dashed up the stairs. Mr. Moore followed shortly behind, climbing the stairs with his hands and feet. Ray chuckled nervously, gave Mabel a look, and went after the two.

He could hear Luther mocking and shouting at the possessed man, calling him names, and was overall reckless. Ray was a few paces behind them when he made it up the stairs, wary of Mr. Moore but still following. They dashed through the lounge, the man limping but harboring the same strength all throughout his run. Through the kitchen and into the pods they went. Luther nearly got tripped up in the pod system but made it through. 

They made it outside, cold and uncovered. Raymond stayed close to the pod while watching the two. Luther was skipping around in circles, laughing and shouting names at Mr. Moore, who’s limp had limited him quite a bit. He was throwing his hands around, trying to grab and scratch at the blonde but was never able to. 

Soon after, Mabel came through the door and was standing next to Raymond. She huffed, patting her dress down and mumbling something under her breath. They both watched as the body of Mr. Moore got slower and hungrier, clearly struggling immensely to haul itself. Eventually, he fell and was left crawling on the ground. Blood had leaked from his wounds like a faucet, making dark splotches on the ground; now that he was dragging his stomach on the dirt, the blood was smearing. Luther stopped running and continued to taunt him with the gold, watching on with amusement as the man struggled to move.

The gambler—to contradict the blonde—was frightened. It hit him that this man truly didn’t have control of his body and he was about to die. Ray just couldn’t register it correctly because the man looked so human but acted so feral. He didn’t know what was in that body, exactly.

The muscles failed and his face hit the dirt. Blood soaked the ground beneath him, the liquid looking like tar in the darkness. Mr. Moore went limp. 

Ray stepped down from the small porch around the front of the pod and approached the two in the yard. Luther held his hand out, gesturing for Raymond to stop and keep his distance. Mr. Moore’s body was moving again, but not in a natural way. It looked like something was trapped inside of him, pushing at his skin, creating bumps and divots in his back—very reminiscent of the masses that had tried to break through the wax earlier. The gambler looked away, his stomach flipping upon the sight, and stepped back.

Mr. Moore’s lifeless corpse rose, as if something was crawling beneath it, and from under his cadaver came a horrid creature. It was a demon, breathing like a rabies-infected rodent, small and hunched over. It was naked, its flesh a sickly yellow, nothing but skin and bones. Scraggly black hair stood in strands upon its head, along with small horns of the same color. Wings too big for its body draped over its back, and a long tail twisted this way and that, looking broken. It looked up and Luther, staying still for a moment, before turning its head to Raymond. 

_ Sh-t _ , he thought as it started coming for him. Ray jumped back as Luther tried to stop it with his powers, throwing a fleshy cloud of black at it and knocking it off to the side. It didn’t stop the hellcrawler, though, and it pushed on. The gambler threw his hands out and summoned those grabbers from the earth, bringing on three huge hands. Scales, feathers, and burning ash made up the limbs, taking hold of the small demon and crushing it to the ground. The sound of bones twisting and crunching together made Raymond audibly groan in disgust, forming a cold sweat on his brow. The demon screeched and swore in that unknown language, trying to move but only getting crushed more. 

Ray was too busy with that creature to realize two more had appeared from beneath the body, one roughly the same size as the crushed demon, the other as big as Luther. The smaller one was snow-white in color, bulbous and missing one of its legs. It flew up into the air with bat-like wings and circled the area. The biggest of the three was as hairy as a bear, with teeth and hands like it too, but had a snake-like tail and a mane like a lion. It owned the ugliest human face imaginable, with a turned-up nose, beady eyes, and wrinkles everywhere. This thing looked like a human crossed a dozen animals, so wrong, so strange, and so angry. It went to Luther with a vengeance.

Ray raced to help, fearing his partner may be in trouble, but what he saw made him stop in his tracks. The blonde, all-smiles, brought his hand up, and with it rose a huge mass from the ground. Not a cloud of writhing chaos, no, but a solid spike of black ice. Dark steam rose from its surface, and the large demon hung from it like meat on a stick. The ice was thick as the demon’s arm but twice as tall as its body and had stabbed straight through the thing’s chest, suspending it in midair. The demon was writhing, grabbing at the spike with its bear-like claws as dull blood ran down the spike. Luther lowered his hand and the ice receded quickly, the hellcrawler falling to its face. It still moved and breathed, attempting to get up, but not before another mass of ice appeared from the air and struck the demon on the skull, bashing it in.

Raymond was in total shock, staring with his jaw agape, having no idea what the hell that even was. But things got even more tumultuous.

The gambler heard the sound of feathery wings fluttering very close to him and in multiple numbers. He looked up to see a flock of pure-white doves flying overhead, descending upon the earth. The majority landed on the roofs of the pods or on the ground around the scene—far too many of the birds to reasonably be found in nature. 

There were only a few doves that were still flying, and when Ray looked over at his friends—unable to speak from the pure confusion he was facing—he saw their expressions. Mabel was opening the door of the pod, halfway inside with a terrified look in her eyes as she watched the doves. Luther was less scared but still attempted to avoid the birds as best he could. What was going on?

Out of the corner of his eye, Raymond saw a flash of light where the crushed demon was. He looked to find his hands that he summoned to be split open and receding into the ground, freeing the demon, while a dove fluttered over the creature. Ray was about to summon more, fearing the hellcrawler would rise and attack, but before he could the bird disappeared. The animal had flown up, then dipped down to the demon and transformed into a solid line of shining, pale gold before reappearing again. The demon had a large gash in its back, glowing and burning as the creature choked. Its skin cracked like stone and its body receded until it was no more, and disappeared. 

Raymond, utterly dumbfounded, kept a close eye on the birds. He watched as one cut into the flying demon, knocking it to the ground in a mess of flaking skin and muscle until it crashed into the ground and faded away. 

A dove went after the last demon, lying on the ground and trying to get up. Luther, though, looked like he was about to have fun. He summoned the black clouds and made them swirl around the creature before throwing it into the air, dozens of feet off the ground. Two doves sliced into the hellcrawler midair and Ray swore he saw the golden outline of a person replacing the shape of one of the doves for a split-second. The demon flaked away and was no more. Then, as if that was their cue, the entire flock of doves took flight and fluttered over the mountain walls, vanishing within a moment’s notice. 

Ray was staring over the mountaintops, watching the sky, waiting to see if those doves would come back. He was entirely in shock, unable to process any of what he just saw. So many— _ too many _ —things happened at once. 

Luther’s cackle could be heard in the dead-silent night. He jogged over to Raymond and threw him off balance as he bumped into him, tossing an arm around his partner. “How’d you like that?”

“What the hell was it?!” Ray spat.

The blonde shoved the gold bar in the gambler’s hand, Raymond quickly realizing just how heavy it was. He nearly dropped it on his foot, not expecting it to weigh as much as it did. It was only as big as his hand, though he supposed gold was indeed weighty. Luther answered, “Those were angels~”

Ray could only stare at him.

“You hear me? Angels. Don’t look like you just saw a ghost~” the blonde teased.

“You aren’t serious,” Ray shook his head.

Luther nodded. “You saw it, didn’t you? That’s what I’ve been telling you—Heavenly forces coming down and rounding up all the demons that aren’t supposed to be here,” he slapped the gambler on the back and went for the pod that Mabel accompanied. “F-ckin` cool, wasn’t it?”

As the blonde went up to the door where Mabel was standing, still looking a little frightened, Ray asked, “How do you know it was—?”

“Stop,” the dark-haired woman put her arm out and refused Luther entry. She didn’t care for what Raymond was trying to ask. “Clean all this sh-t up before you come in.”

“Really?” Luther rolled his eyes, totally relaxed. 

“Yes,  _ really _ . I don’t want my home looking like a murder scene.”

“No help?” he smiled.

“I’ll bring the things to clean up the floors. The rest you can handle.”

The blonde frowned and started turning. “Where do you want him?” he referred to what was left of Mr. Moore.

“Send him down the chute.” Mabel went inside.

Luther went back to the ground and approached the gambler. “We’ve got lots of help, huh?”

Ray stayed quiet, not wanting to pick a side. It was pretty much Luther’s whole idea to be chased by a bleeding guy from one end of the house to the other. The blonde, upon getting no support, turned his head to the body. “Poor bastard, though?”

“...Yeah,” Raymond breathed, “That must’ve been a trip for him.” His eyes were glued to the corpse, still not quite wanting to believe he was dead. He didn’t know why his mind rejected the idea. The man was clearly deceased. He wasn’t breathing, he wasn’t moving, he’d bled out. It just… didn’t seem natural.  _ Of course it wasn’t natural _ , he thought,  _ with demons and possessions…  _ But even he had trouble believing that much of the story. The gambler asked, “Where’s the, uhm…” he pulled on his collar, “...chute?” He remembered Mabel telling him about the channel that dropped into the chamber underground. 

“Over by the pens,” Luther said, keeping an eye on the door for Ms. Ackerman. 

Ray nodded and walked over to the body. He didn’t look at it, he just stared at his shoes. The gambler was still holding onto the bullion; the was gold dirtied, dented, and had engravings of numbers and a company name on it. He forced the bar into his pocket and exhaled, drawing his eyes upon the dead man in front of him. Now that the corpse was right there it seemed all-the-more apparent what the situation was. This was a dead man. Killed. Bled out. Gone.

Raymond hoped that the cold would distract him, but he didn’t even feel the fridgedness anymore. He saw the vapor form in the air as he breathed but didn’t feel the ice enter his lungs. He knew there were goosebumps on his skin but didn’t feel them or know why they were there.

He didn’t know what had happened. This frozen image of the body was trapped in his mind and he couldn’t stick a reasoning to it. He felt like he had to get rid of it, surely. Just take the body and find the chute. To the chute, by the pens.

He realized his shoes were stepping right in the black-colored blood that had stained the dirt. The gambler leaned over and took the cadaver by the ankles. His fingers clutched the skin so tightly that he left marks, but of course Raymond didn’t realize it. He thought he should start moving—holding a body wouldn't do anything to help unless he took it somewhere. To the chute, by the pens. 

He couldn’t see anything but the body. If he could just get rid of it he wouldn’t have to look at it anymore. To the chute, by the…

Raymond gasped and dropped the dead man when he felt a sudden contact with his back. He snapped back to reality, hearing Luther’s voice and feeling his hands on either of his shoulders, pulling him away. “Ray, Ray,” the blonde beckoned in a quiet manner. The gambler caught a glimpse of Mabel closing the door, ignoring the two. He realized what had scared him: his partner draped a coat over his shoulders, and was now holding him still. Raymond saw that pale face in front of him and exhaled with relief, clutching onto his arms. 

“Sorry, sorry,” the gambler tried to play it off, feeling the freezing sweat on his brow. He dipped his head, loosening his grip on the blonde’s arms. “Scared myself for a second...”

Luther was giving him a look, knowing more than Raymond let on. He frowned and pulled Ray’s coat over his partner. “Put that on,” he told him. 

Ray, with a solemn silence, bundled himself up. He pursed his lips as the blonde looked at the mess laying on the ground in front of them. “I’ll take care of it,” Luther said, “Go inside.”

“No,” Raymond looked up, “No, I’ll help clean the floors. I just…” he glanced at the body, only to receive that sickening twist in his gut again. Swiftly, his eyes averted. “...you know…?” he realized how pitiful he sounded. 

The blonde lowered his brow and brought a hand to his partner’s neck, gingerly rubbing his skin. “Go inside if you feel sick again. Okay?”

Raymond bit his tongue and nodded, and Luther took his hand away. 

There were cleaning supplies at the pod. Rags, bleach, and water, to be precise. Ray knew he could probably handle blood and found more ease in those items. Luther—comfortable enough with death, it seemed—took the corpse by the ankles and began dragging it away. 

Raymond gathered his things as his partner got further from him, but paused to watch where exactly the blonde went. Luther had gone around the pens and to the left, removing a few bundles of hay that sat against the fencing. It was hard to see, but Ray recognized the motion of opening a hatch. That’s all he wanted to witness and turned away before he could be cursed with the sight of his partner dumping a body down a place meant for pigs. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


After they’d cleaned the floors, Mabel went down to the chamber to take care of Mr. Moore’s body. She said she would give it to the demons as a sort of free gift, if nothing else, and to cleanly dispose of it. It would go about the same as the last summoning went—and though nothing was said, the gambler knew that both Luther and Mabel made a silent agreement to not bring him down there again. At least for the night. Raymond was still a bit shaken up.

Ray had walked out of the restroom after a bath, hoping the cleaning would ward off some of the anxiety of the evening. It definitely did soothe him, and while he cleaned up he’d gathered questions in his mind. There were always questions, and there would probably continue to be questions for a while. He didn’t mind asking, he just wasn’t always reliant on the answer being something he could completely understand. He prepared for that as he went downstairs to the lounge.

Luther had already bathed and Mabel was still downstairs, cleaning things up. Raymond found his partner in his usual spot on the sofa and went to meet him. The blonde shared a smile with the gambler as he took a seat. “Tired?” 

Ray gave a chuckle, “Do I look like it?”

“Little bit,” Luther leaned against him. 

The gambler sighed, “Just been thinkin`...” he began, “Can I ask some things? Or are you too worn out?”

“No, I’m gonna be around as long as Mabel is, in case she wants any extra help. Go ahead.”

Ray gathered his thoughts and started off very vaguely. “So… Demons and angels? Both sides are very much real?”

“Mhm. That’s how it’s been.”

“I think I’m more surprised `bout the angel part of it. I didn’t expect to… I dunno, see them while worshipin` demons? Of all things?”

“Yeah, it’s tricky,” Luther said, “They try to be hidden from everyone. ‘Invisible trust of God,’ or something.”

“So… why us? Why do we get to see them but not… non-satanists? That seems sort of backwards, don’t it? Unfair?”

“Unfair? Hell yes. Backwards? Not quite. Since we’re already on the bad end of things, there isn’t much hope for converting us. They don’t care about showing themselves at that point, especially when demons are on the loose.”

Raymond lowered his brow, biting the inside of his cheek. “So they just… give up on us people?” he asked, feeling slightly depressed about that.

“I guess,” Luther shrugged, “Or if you’re an optimist, you could say that they’re desperate to convert us. So they perform their magic in plain view in hopes of doing so.”

It wasn’t much, but it was something; that made Ray a bit  _ less _ depressed about the subject. “But, really, them angels’ first mission was to get rid of the demons, right?”

“Right.”

“Where’d they go?”

“The demons or the angels?”

“Both, I s’pose.”

“Well, they went back to where they belonged. The demons were banished to Hell with a huge gash in their bodies and the angels went to Heaven.”

A pause. “...How did you know they were angels? I mean, they didn’t look nothin` like it. Just looked like birds.”

“I’ve seen them before. They were undercover. It’s like how demons have to shapeshift to remain hidden on Earth, so do angels. It’s easier to change into an animal rather than a person, I guess. They go as doves most times.”

“There were… a lot of them. Why didn’t they come sooner? Did they not know Mr. Moore was full of demons?”

“No, they would have been watching. They just can’t get rid of a person like that. They have to wait for it to die and for the demons to come out. Same with animals or… anything. Angels won’t kill living things if they can help it.”

“So, possessin` people is a good way for demons to roam Earth, too?”

“Yeah, but it’s harder that way. If it’s just one demon, they have to fight the consciousness of the person or animal. If it’s multiple demons, they can override the consciousness but then they have to fight each other. Which is typically why you see weak demons possessing people: they don’t have enough power to shapeshift.”

Raymond paused to recollect his thoughts. “Why did… Well, when the doves came, I saw Mabel. She looked scared. Would they have hurt us?”

Blue eyes squinted as he looked at nothing and collected his thoughts. “No, not us. We’re human, they wouldn’t touch us—even as satanists. Mabel’s just…” his lips hooked into a frown, “...I think she’s just freaked out by it. She’s deep into the possession business, she works with demons all the time. She knows what to expect. But, with angels, she’s lost. And a bit scared.” He sort of chuckled, “I mean, who wouldn’t be? You see them wipe out beasts like that in an instant. You wonder what would happen if you accidentally got in their path.”

“But they wouldn’t hurt us,” Ray confirmed.

“They wouldn’t. But fear never ceases to bring those ‘What if?’ questions.”

“Right…” There was a lingering thought in the back of Raymond’s mind. He remembered the first time he witnessed one of Luther’s nightmares. His partner was screaming about doves—he wondered if that had any connection. “Are you scared of them?” Ray asked, not wanting to be direct.

“To an extent, I guess. But I think it’s mainly from, you know, what I’ve gone through.”

Raymond nodded. “You didn’t seem any sort of scared `bout those demons, though. Looked like you were havin` fun with them.”

Luther smirked. “I mean, when you can kick them around it’s always fun.”

“Yeah, uhm… What the hell was that you did out there, though? What was it, ice?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s an ability of mine.”

“Have I seen it before?”

“No, I think you’ve just seen the smoke,” the blonde told him, “The smoke just pushes things. The ice does actual damage, though. But it’s f-cking hard to summon; it takes up a lot of concentration and can be difficult to control. It’s like a bullet or a thrown rock—you only get one shot at it, and you can’t just bend it and twist it like you can the smoke.” 

“Oh,” Ray tilted his head, “What  _ are _ all your abilities?”

“Ha, a bunch. I’ve got nearly all of yours, except the hand thing. And, obviously, I can shift into a goat and not a crow. Let’s see…” he started counting on his hands, “...Smoke… Ice… Shapeshifting… Control animals… I can pick up small things without touching them… I can heal myself… I can heal others with my blood… I can control some small fires… Make noises come from nowhere… Sort of teleport? That one’s complicated.” He explained, “Once a day I can sort of disappear. It helps if I’m stuck in a room with people after me. I can move in one direction and zip to a new location a few dozen yards away.”

“Don’t think I’ve seen that one,” Ray thought, “No, wait… Did you do that when we first met? We were under the streetlamp, you handed me money, and when I looked up you were gone.”

Luther had a cheeky smiled on his face and shrugged, “Yeah, that happened.”

“Scared the hell out of me that night,” Ray grinned.

“Whoops,” Luther nudged him. “Oh sh-t! I forgot about the bag!” He hopped off the couch, pausing for the gambler to get up. 

“What bag?” Ray asked as he stood.

“The guy’s bag that he brought with him. You need to see the sh-t he has in there.”

“Oh, right. I had that gold bar; I think I left it upstairs in the restroom.”

“Go get it, I’ll bring the sack up,” Luther told him and headed that direction. 

Raymond did what he was told, traveling up the house and finding the bullion where he thought he’d left it. Back down he went, and the two met up in the living room again.

They sat down on the couch, Luther putting the bag in front of him on the floor like a huge gift. He opened it up and Raymond peered inside.

He was rightfully uncomfortable. 

There were a few more gold bars along with jewelry and coins, plus an extravagant amount of ammunition cartridges, but that wasn’t the prime of the problem. What was unsettling was the multiple bundles of human hair, various amounts of women’s shoes, and many pairs of pantalettes. Raymond scrunched his nose up, feeling slightly better about the whole incident that happened that night.

“F-ckin` creep…” the gambler hissed.

“Right?” Luther laughed, amused, “Disgusting. That bastard probably stole everything he got. And I don’t even want to know how he got the hair…”

Ray shook his head and leaned back on the couch, wanting to get as far away as he could from that bag of perversion. “I feel bad for the women who had to meet him.”

“Hopefully there wasn’t too much damage done,” Luther sighed, “I’ll probably go through this in the morning. I just washed, don’t want to touch something he’s—”

“Stop!” Raymond punched him jokingly but desperately, “Don’t even finish that, for the love of God…” 

Luther chuckled, tying the bag up. He moved it to the side of the couch, yawning as he sat down on the couch. “Andrew will take the gold and things. We’ll probably burn the rest.”

“Hopefully,” Raymond commented. 

Luther laid against him. “Anything else you wanted to ask?”

Ray thought for a moment. “Not much. I s’pose, just… how do the summonings work for Mabel? Clearly it ain’t the same as how we summon Beata.”

“Right, right. If you ever want a certain demon, you have to summon them by name and with a sacrifice. Oh, and with your blood—that way they know who they’re serving. 

“As for the weak guys, as long as you open a portal and put out some bait, they’ll come. No names, no chants. Just some items. That’s what the braids are for. They’ll get summoned and run amok with nothing to do other than cause chaos. But you can use blood to make them do a job like attack or possess something. Pig’s blood, they’ll go after any pigs; some person’s blood, they’ll go after that specific person; your blood, you’re screwed. Don’t ever summon lesser demons with your blood, if you ever plan on it.”

Ray nodded. “Noted.”

Mabel had soon finished her tasks and came upstairs. The other two offered any of their services before the night ended, but none were needed. Within a small amount of time and after a few short talks, they were all ready to end the night. Luther and Raymond went off to their room while Ms. Ackerman cleaned herself up for the night.

The partners slipped into bed, Luther falling asleep within a few moments. Ray stayed up for a while longer, though, just remembering what all had happened that evening, replaying the events in his mind. 

He didn’t keep track of the time. He didn't know how late he’d actually stayed up until he realized he was still awake to experience Luther’s night terror. Murmurs and twitches were performed by the blonde, the beginning of his episode. Raymond turned on his side and pulled his partner into his arms, stopping the nightmare before it started. He sighed, petting blonde hair so softly, and forced himself to shut his eyes.


	20. The Weight of Gold Upon Your Shoulders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philippians 4:6

A day passed without much fuss. They would wait to bring their find of gold and jewelry to Andrew on Sunday to avoid an extra trip. They’d plucked through Terrance Moore’s bag and kept the valuables and ammunition, leaving the other unappealing things in the sack to deal with later.

Mabel allowed the other two satanists to have Mr. Moore’s guns. She thought it’d be best for when they leave and are on their own again they’d have some man-made protection. Luther told them he’d held and fired guns before, so he was familiar. He took the double-hammered shotgun. 

Raymond, on the other hand, was not at all familiar with firearms. He’d never owned one, fired one, or even held one. So, the blonde gave him the “little gun,” the single-action revolver. 

They had plenty of ammunition for both weapons and didn’t mind using a few bullets to practice. They went to the yard and marked a few spots on the mesa-mountain wall as targets. They took turns, and Luther went first. 

He did fairly well. If he didn’t hit his target he was always very close. He knew how to handle the gun and it was only a matter of moments before he devolved his own rhythm of reloading. The gambler hated just how loud it was—it pierced through his head and rang in his ears so badly that he couldn’t tell if the noises were echoing off the canyon walls or echoing off his skull. 

Raymond, to contrast, was very shaky. Luckily, there were no mistakes—he didn’t accidentally fire it at his foot or drop it when he first shot, but too easily could have. Luther taught him how to load and fire and was right behind him when he did, but it didn’t ease the process. The immense noise that emitted from it still scared Ray, even after hearing it a few times, and the weapon made his wrists snap back in a jolting way. With the puff of smoke that came from the barrel, Ray wasn’t even sure that he hit the target right away. 

The gambler ended up missing most of his shots, though he  _ did _ get better over time. Out of the twelve shots he attempted, only three landed on target. Luther was there for support, patting him on the back and telling him not to worry about it—it was his first time, there weren’t high expectations. And, sure, that was true, but something still bugged the hell out of the gambler. He tried to keep his chin high and ignore it.

Once they were done having fun outside, they retired their weapons safely in their room. Luther suggested that they should keep practicing throughout the week, just to get his partner used to it all. Raymond agreed reluctantly. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


The week continued with storms, rain, and freezing weather. The days that passed were grey, dreary, and uninspiring—and for that reason, Raymond wasn’t able to practice much with his new gun. Instead, he made up for it by sitting secluded in the lounge and honed his ability to summon hands from the underworld. He ensured he wasn’t close to anything breakable and warned the others of coming close, lest some uncontrollable hands rake into them. 

He must have sat there for hours at a time in an attempt to control each and every one of them. The grabbers—none the same and not one came back twice—attacked anything and anyone besides him. Raymond dared one day to reach out to one of the hands and risk his own getting broken into a million pieces, but the grabber only jerked away once it was touched. He experimented, taking a pencil and poking the same hand, only to have it be ripped away from him and be instantly snapped. 

There were many times where he could direct the hands and have them move across the floor. They would shrink back down under and reappear in whatever spot he wanted them to be. The distance of the hands’ reach was only limited by Raymond’s sight: so long as he could see the spot, they would appear there. 

The grabbers would also come out of the walls and ceiling if he wanted. Really, any surface worked. They ripped from the innards of the sofa, only to disappear and magically repair the damage as they went; arms would reach out of the shoes on the floor; Ray cleared off a small table and tried it there, and it worked. The hands came out of the surface of the table but didn’t appear under it, as if the table itself was a portal. He tried it on small surfaces, such as marbles and pens, but that didn’t succeed. The gambler realized that the smallest hands were the size of an infant’s, and if there wasn’t a surface large enough to support their size then they wouldn’t appear. 

Raymond thought about trying it on a person, or maybe on himself. But that idea was immediately shot down. There was no way he would do that to himself or someone else; it would most likely hurt like hell, but even if it didn’t it was sure to feel extremely violating. He pushed that thought out of his head and never let it return.

During his practice, there were times where he just couldn’t concentrate. He thought about what he could have been doing if the weather had let up: firing his revolver. It seemed like the same type of handgun both the lumberjack and Harris owned. The same handgun that they both tried to kill him with…

Ah, was that it? That’s why he couldn’t focus, the thought of Harris & Co. was sneaking up on him and he didn’t even realize it. Just the idea of shooting a man was too much for Raymond, and knowing he’d  _ have to _ if they ever saw each other again was sickening. That was evil, wasn’t it? Why wouldn’t it have been? Shooting someone was just… pure chaos. Mr. Harris did it. The lumberjack did it. Mr. Moore surely did it. Men in war did it. Criminals did it. Hell, even Luther was able to shoot a gun, would that mean he’d aim it at a person?

Of course he would. It was to protect himself. Raymond knew that. He wasn’t sure why he was trying to villainize the firearm he owned. He just… didn’t know how to take it.

The gambler had to wake himself up from his daydreaming-nightmares time and time again. He asked himself why these demon hands were any better than the guns. Well, for starters, these things wielded claws instead of bullets. Claws rarely kill, bullets usually kill. And he’d never seen one of the grabbers slay anyone—let alone severely hurt them.

No, wait, that wasn’t true. He remembered the demon that he crushed the other night. The thing’s bones snapped like twigs and Raymond was the cause for it. He didn’t find much discomfort in it, though, for the sole purpose that he’d crushed a demon and not a human. Yet, wouldn’t that demon have been a human before? Or would it have…?

He shook himself out of his silent tangent again. There were some things that he’d rather not think about. He tried to shut his brain off and mindlessly go through the motions of the day.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Thursday rolled around without Raymond even knowing it. He woke late in the morning, expecting to be hugging Luther or at least laying next to him. But, when his senses kicked in, he realized that the blonde was gone. 

The gambler, unworried, sat up and rubbed his face. He looked around, finding nothing but inanimate objects and a golden light glowing from the lit lamp. He got up and stretched out, waking himself up so he could start thinking clearly. The door to the room was closed and Luther’s shoes were gone. 

Raymond got dressed and cleaned himself up for the day, walking down the hall and to the stairs. While descending he could hear a conversation between his housemates in the kitchen. He followed the voices.

The smell of freshly-cooked food was strong on the first floor. It smelled like meat—maybe chicken or pork? He went to the kitchen, hearing Luther and Mabel before he saw them, able to understand what they were talking about. They were casually bickering over small things, like how to prepare something or where to place another. 

Upon entry, Raymond was blessed with quite the sight: the dining table was partially full with platters of chicken, potatoes, and vegetables. Mabel and Luther were in the kitchen, addressing other plates and preparations, alongside two figures. They were both demons, one tall and skinny with grey-blue skin and navy-blue clothing suiting the age. It floated without moving its wings, its goat-like legs bent and relaxed. It had large horns that folded over themselves and twisted into a symmetrical and neat fashion, ears pointed and face relatively human. The other was smaller and more bug-like, hovering with giant buzzing wings and a small, fat body. Its many arms and legs were extremely skinny and fragile, but its stomach was plump like a pig’s and its head was entirely too big for its body—like a fly. Speaking of fly, that’s exactly what the head was: two, giant, metallic eyes with thick hairs on the top of its cranium and a tube-like mouth. It wore raggedy and scrapped clothes, standing at only about three feet tall. The demons seemed to be helping with the preparations.

Mabel was the first to notice the gambler. She welcomed him with a casual, “There he is,” gaining the attention of the other three, “Happy Thanksgiving.”

Raymond looked at everything again, warily stepping closer. “What is all this?” he asked innocently.

“Thanksgiving! What Mabel said!” Luther exclaimed, pulling a steaming-hot dish of pie from the oven and passing it to the tall demon. 

“But I thought ya’ll didn’t…”

Luther shrugged, closing the oven. “I told Mabel that you still wanted to celebrate and we thought it’d be fun,” he walked up to Ray, taking his hand and pulling him into the kitchen. “These demons are helping out with quickening the process and whatnot.” Luther gestured to the fly demon, “He can’t talk,” he gestured to the other, “But he—”

“Hello,” the tall demon greeted, raising his chin and eyeing Raymond with an icy-blue gaze. 

“—can,” the blonde finished. 

The gambler was certainly surprised that he was encountering a demon that he could understand and not get attacked or kissed by. Well,  _ yet _ . He kept his guard up while attempting to be open at the same time. “Hello,” he greeted back, though realizing the demon was still busy at work. With clawed fingers the demon tickled the air and fattened a cooked chicken in front of him, then moved it through the air and to the table without touching it. 

Raymond collected his words, honestly surprised that this was even happening. He’d already somewhat accepted not having another religious-related holiday from then on, but this was… It was really great! “You just did all this for fun?” he asked.

“Well,” the blonde started, “We did it for you. You wanted it, and since we don’t have anything else to do, we wanted to… spend time doing it,” he shrugged, “Even if we don’t give a sh-t about anything that today means, we can just eat together and have a good time, right?”

Raymond was smiling from ear to hear, his expression so warm and happy it could melt your heart. He ran his hand through his hair, not really knowing how to express his gratitude.

Luther asked, “How is it so far? We don’t have the ham ready yet, but everything else is pretty much done.”

“It’s already fantastic!” Raymond exclaimed, laughing, “You guys are…!” He lost his train of thought in a wave of joy. He continued laughing, looking to Mabel and thanking them. Though the demons mostly ignored the other three, Ms. Ackerman smiled and looked happy.

The gambler helped around, doing whatever he could to assist though most of the work had already been accomplished. After things were set, the demons were given platters of extra food—practically full meals—and some seemingly random items from the house: cups, silverware, small paintings, and even a rug. The demons greedily took the objects and fled beneath ground once their job was complete. Then, the satanists sat at the table and proceeded to dig in. 

The meal was amazing. Everyone had outdone themselves and Raymond was so much more than glad about it. He had to satisfy his hunger before making conversation with the other two, and he started off with thanking them. 

“Really, it’s so much,” he said while grinning, “And all just `cause I said I wanted it?”

“C’mon, it’s not like we’d just ignore you,” Luther said. “Well, Mabel probably would have if I didn’t bug her about it.”

Ms. Ackerman smirked and shook her head. “I’m glad you’re grateful, Raymond—we know Luther isn’t.”

The blonde waved her off and Ray chuckled. 

“So, what `bout the demons?” the gambler asked, “They just helped you, even though…?”

“Even though they’re demons?” Luther finished for him. “Well, you gotta understand that they were human beforehand, and only now they’re demons. Maybe they used to celebrate Thanksgiving, maybe they just don’t care. Not all demons are gonna stick to the same mindset of ‘f-ck the church.’”

“And, besides, they  _ have _ to serve me,” Mabel added, “I summoned them. They either serve or get banished.”

“Oh,” Ray nodded, “What `bout the things you gave them?”

“That’s their reward,” she explained, “Lots of demons make permanent homes in Hell. It’s like a big city,” a pause, “So I’ve heard.”

“They use those things to decorate since, again, they can’t manufacture anything down there,” the blonde continued, “And the food is just an extra, basically.”

The gambler nodded. “Thanksgivin` for them, too.”

“Basically,” Luther smiled.

They continued to eat and made conversation, the three of them enjoying themselves immensely. They were all humble and giggly, taking bits of everything but it would have been impossible to eat it all in one sitting. When they finished Raymond made sure to make himself extra useful and did everything he could to clean up and store the food. That holiday wasn’t played out to its fullest, of course—Ray just wanted it to be mentioned, at least. They spent the rest of the day like any other, chatting and doing their own activities. The gambler practiced his magic, Mabel read and studied, Luther doodled. 

The rain was letting up. It made Raymond’s conscience itch… he knew why. He’d be practicing with man-made weapons soon enough. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


The three of them had settled down for the night. Mabel had gone to bed early that holiday and the couple found themselves in their own room not long after. They dressed down and slipped into bed, like usual.

“Sorry that today wasn’t nearly that exciting. I wasn’t expecting it to be raining this long,” Luther said.

“What? You kiddin` me?” Ray chuckled, sitting up in bed, “Today was amazin`! I honestly didn’t even expect you to do really anythin`...”

“Oh, no faith in me and my persuasion skills~?” the blonde teased, moving his body right against Raymond’s. 

“Not that!” the gambler laughed, “I just… didn’t have faith in… well, your faith.” He looked away, “I wasn’t really gonna expect you to just do that.”

Raymond felt a hand on his collarbone and curly hair against the side of his head. He slowly turned his head, only for his cheek to collide right into one of Luther’s kisses. The blonde smiled as he wrapped his arms around his partner. “I didn’t do it for my ‘faith,’ Ray. I did it for you.”

The gambler smiled and held him back. “It’s just weird for me, I guess… I didn’t really wanna do it for faith either. I just…” he sighed, “It’s been years since I’ve actually gotten to enjoy a holiday. I think I wanted to have one more before I stopped entirely.”

Luther squeezed him. “You deserve that much,” he whispered, “I’ll do what I can for you. All you need to do is speak up, yeah?”

“Yeah…” Raymond felt his mouth dry and a lump form in his throat. He held onto the material of the blonde’s nightshirt, collecting his words. “Speakin` of… speakin` up,” he started, “I wanna talk. Just real quick?”

Luther pulled his head and arms away, keeping his hands on his partner but not holding him. One of those pale hands were on the gambler’s knee, thumb grazing over the skin. “Yeah,” the blonde nodded, “What is it?”

The gambler took a quick moment for himself. “It’s `bout… the guns, I think. Er, `bout Harris. `Bout both,” he tripped over his tongue. “I’ve been thinkin` and I know why we got those guns. I mean, I know you told me, they’re for self-defense, but…” he put his hand on top of Luther’s, “I remember you tellin` me that we’d have to deal with Harris and his boys at some point or another. And I know we’ll probably use those weapons, right?”

The blonde was quiet, waiting for a continuation.

“I just,” Ray shook his head, “The gun scares the hell outta me—I know I sound like a crybaby, but it does. I think it’s the implications that scare me, really.” Raymond frowned, “When we have to deal with them, we will. I’ll defend myself, I’ll defend you. But I just don’t know if I can…” he looked down at where their hands laid upon his knee. He clasped Luther’s fist and held it tightly, “...kill anyone…”

Luther’s blue eyes lit up. He took his free hand to the side of the gambler’s neck, going, “Ray…” he seemed immediately sympathetic, “Ray, that’s completely fine.”

“I mean, is it?” he retorted pitifully, “Ain’t I bad at my job if I can’t take care of them?”

“Raymond, killing people isn’t a set ‘job’ requirement. This time the situation just took a turn for the worst; we’ll probably have to kill them to finish this.”

Ray bit his lip.

“No, no…” Luther backtracked, “ _ I’ll _ finish this. You don’t have to worry about the mess.”

“But ain’t it  _ my _ issue? Ain’t it the reason why  _ I _ chose to be a satanist? Shouldn’t  _ I _ take care of it?”

“Raymond,” Luther said firmly, yet his expression and touch were soft. He’d taken both of the gambler’s hands in his own and was keeping them in tender care. “This problem isn’t yours alone… As long as I’m with you, this is  _ our _ problem. And as long as you’re not comfortable with something, it’s  _ my _ job to help.”

Ray shook his head, looking away. “I don’t want to burden you with nothin`...” he squeaked. 

“You aren’t,” Luther assured, “You aren’t…

“Don’t think you’re ever on your own with this. And don’t think that I won’t be willing to help,” he continued. “If push comes to shove, I’ll be the one to finish it. It’s not because I don’t trust you; it’s not because I think you’re too fragile; it’s not because I think you’re incompetent. I’ve told you things I’ve never told anyone; I know you can bend but you’ve never once broken or gave up; you’re strong and you learn everything that’s handed to you. If you were really up for ending another person’s life to end your own pain, I know you would do it.

“But trust and strength and capability has nothing to do with how this will end. We’re going to stick together and help one another out when we can’t help ourselves. We’re going to confront Harris and his boys one day, and when we do  _ I’ll _ help you. I won’t hold anything against you. Nothing of what I do to them will hurt me.”

A long moment of silence followed Luther’s words. Raymond was clutching his partner’s hands to stop his own fingers from trembling.

“The last thing I would want to do is break you. We both know that you would break if you shot them lethally. I’m not going to put you through that.” 

The gambler let his head dip down, somewhat ashamed for his pitiful nature but mostly relieved. Luther rested his forehead against Ray’s, and they both looked up slightly—enough to have their noses touch. The blonde held Raymond’s face and let his eyes fall halfway shut. “I love you, you know that. I’m not going to force you to do anything.”

Raymond sighed and put on a very small smile. “I believe you…” he rested his hands on Luther’s sides, “I love you too.”

There was a weightlessness about that night after the talk. The gambler felt very relieved and very free knowing what Luther had told him. And though it didn’t make the situation itself any better, he thought that, surely, it would turn out in the long run. 


	21. Great Heights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeremiah 6:25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !Violent Imagery Warning!

Sunday rolled by. The three of them geared up to head into town and sell their things, plus discard the rest of the items along the way. They’d gotten dressed and pulled on cowls and coats as grey clouds came to tumble across the sky and make the day a bit colder. It hadn’t rained yet, but it was sprinkling, so a wet day may have been imminent. 

The satanists locked the house up and loaded themselves into the cart. Mabel hit the reins and they were off. They had two separate bags with them: one full of the gold and jewelry and the other full of the perverse items Mr. Moore had collected. They would throw the second bag off of the bridge that connected the base to the mountain path, sending it deep into the chasm below. Raymond hated looking down at its depths beforehand, but when Mabel told him that there was a crack at the very bottom that led deep underground to a cave, it didn’t help him. She wanted the bag down there so they’d never have to see it again. 

Luther grabbed the bag as they were passing over the bridge, proceeding to throw it over the edge. He didn’t have to throw very far—the cart’s width was nearly the same as the bridge’s. The bag fell so far they couldn't even hear it land. 

But what they  _ could _ hear was horses. The sound of hooves trotting ahead of the path was quite close, actually, though they couldn’t see them past the curve of the wall. Mabel pulled on the reins and made her horses stop, probably to give the wanderers ahead room to stop and turn around. Or, Raymond thought, maybe they were from town and giving Mabel a visit. She’d have to figure her way back around. He didn’t know how likely the possibility was since it seemed like Ms. Ackerman never once got visitors, but one can only wonder.

Oh, how his mind wondered about things that were so far from the truth. 

A number of three horses galloped around the wall. Two were colored deep brown with short coats that hugged their skin, and the last was mostly black with a white stripe down its nose and white legs. 

“Private property!” Mabel called, “Turn around!”

Raymond squinted to get a better look at the riders. The brown horses were riding behind the last, and on either of them were two men: one was tall and burly, another had deep-black hair, but that was about all he could point out from that distance. However, the rider on the black and white horse was trotting ahead and getting closer. The horseman had fair skin with brown, curly hair. He was moderately sized with some higher-class clothing, and the silver chain of a watch hung from his pocket.

The gambler’s eyes widened, knowing exactly who it was, but not believing it. He felt his blood curdle and run cold through his body as he froze, unable to move, unable to perceive anything else besides the man on the horse. Of course,  _ of course _ , it  _ had _ to be Harris… 

The man with the silver chain had reached for his hip, Ray unable to react as Mr. Harris called out to his buddies and aimed for the gambler. Raymond felt his coat get grabbed just before the first shot rang through the air. He was pulled forward and down from his seat while a sharp noise echoed through the mountains. Luther had yanked him out of the way of the shot before it fired, thankfully, but things were about to get so much worse. 

Both of Mabel’s horses bucked at the threat of the gun, jostling the cart. The blonde had tried to pull Raymond out of the back of the cart but lost his footing and both fell to the bed of the carriage. Mabel’s horses threw themselves around, one of them missing the ground beneath it. Its hoove slipped off the road of the mountain, mere inches off of the bridge, and the animal went toppling down. Its weight brought the other with it, and soon the whole cart was being flipped off the side of the bridge. 

In a fit of panic, Luther created a black cloud beneath himself and his partner, which launched them both from the cart and onto the ground about ten feet towards the base. However, Mabel had no such tricks up her sleeve. Raymond turned to watch the scene where he’d last see Ms. Ackerman: screaming as she was thrown off the bridge, the cart and horses going with her. 

“ _ Mabel!! _ ” Luther screamed, scrambling to his feet and attempting to get to the bridge. He looked like he was trying to twist his magic in order to help, but another shot blasted through the air and staggered the blonde.

Raymond got to his feet, trying to concentrate to make the hands appear. Mr. Harris and his boys were approaching with great speed. The gambler reacted by throwing his hands out and causing the grabbers to appear, clutching at the two closest horses’ ankles and making them fall to the dirt. He missed the third, but the steed tripped over one of its friends that had already fallen. The three riders were thrown off as this happened, giving the satanists time to run. 

The blonde hurried back to Raymond, and the gambler instantly noticed the bright red stain in Luther’s shirt. It was located on his left shoulder and growing with size. His partner had been shot. Before Ray was able to say anything about it Luther pushed him toward the base. “Go! We need the guns! Go!” he shouted.

Raymond dashed alongside Luther while the blonde was looking back, trying to use his abilities to their advantage. However, it just wasn’t working. He looked entirely dazed from the gunshot and couldn’t concentrate—the ice he summoned flew this way and that, and the most he could do with the clouds were push the enemies down a few times. Yet, there was always one that evaded the touch of the powers: the man with raven-colored hair. He was able to zip around the attempts to get him down and pursue the two satanists. He had a gun on his hip and an unsheathed Bowie knife in his left hand. The massive and intimidating blade shimmered dully that grey day, threatening the satanists’ lives.

Luther gave up on trying to delay their progress and focused on running. His left arm was clearly stiffened and he refused to move it much as he ran. They went for one of the pods and fled inside, slamming the door behind them.

Raymond was in the lead. As he ran he heard the attacker yelling and throwing the doors open behind them. The gambler scrambled to get to the main house, eventually entering the cross-section where all the hallways met up to approach the main double doors. He practically threw himself into them, grasping the handle and expecting it to open. However, it didn’t. He tried again and again, but the door was locked. “Sh-t!” Luther tried the other handle, “Mabel had the keys!”

Raymond, in a desperate attempt, tried to kick the door. His heel slammed close to the handle but the doors wouldn’t budge. By that time, the raven had come barreling through and swinging his knife. He came in between the satanists and separated them, then went straight for the gambler after his first failed attempt. Ray dashed back into one of the far hallways, entering pod after pod, trying his best to evade immediate death although he could almost feel its breath on the back of his neck. 

He was able to get outside but was tackled immediately as his feet hit the ground. The raven launched himself out of the pod and right onto the gambler, making both of them roll as they tumbled. Raymond was pinned on his back while the raven took the knife and attempted to stab him. Ray grabbed the man’s arms and tried his best to keep the blade away, but the weapon was too long and he felt his cheeks and brow get cut multiple times. 

The gambler forced the demon grabbers up from the earth around him and made them shove the raven off. Ray didn’t waste that opportunity and sprung to his feet, running toward the pens just to get as far away as he could. He didn’t know where Luther was or where the other two attackers were, but those thoughts didn’t stop his feet from dashing as far away as he could. 

He soon realized that going towards the animal pens to get away from the action led him straight to a dead end. There was nowhere to go—he couldn’t scale the wall and the pens led nowhere. The only thing left was—

— _ the chute! _ It was a crazy idea, but the adrenaline in his system didn’t let him think rationally. If he could somehow shove the raven down the chute then they wouldn’t have to worry about him anymore. The gambler dashed around the pens and went to the small hay bales that hid the location of the chute. He was only able to push through them before the raven was on his back again—literally.

The attacker sprung onto Raymond’s back and screamed slurs as his knife stabbed into the gambler’s back and carved down as he was thrown off. Ray would feel the awful sting of that cut later. 

The raven went at him again, throwing his entire body into the satanist in an attempt to knock him over. And, although it did stagger him, the gambler was built much broader and stronger than his attacker and didn’t fall. Raymond commanded the grabbers to rise again and take the raven to the ground, and that they did. The raven went down, screaming and shouting as he was raked into, and Ray lifted the heavy lid of the chute. 

The raven somehow squirmed his way free, spitting on the ground with lacerations all over his head and neck. Blood was dripping down his face and coating it in a curtain of red but he didn’t let it stun him and attempted  _ again _ to attack Raymond. The gambler stepped around the hole of the chute, its darkness promising consumption for whoever fell in, and the gambler was determined to get the raven down there. He had to win a test of strength first, though. With one hand on the raven’s bloodied face and the other on the hand that wielded the knife, he just couldn’t find the right hold. The hand that held back the knife slipped and now the blade was slicing between the webbing of his fingers. Maybe the shock was finally setting in again, or maybe it was the extreme panic of the situation, but whatever it was it didn’t allow Raymond to win. While he tried to regain his footing he misstepped and half of him plunged into the chute. The raven fell forward on the ground while the gambler tried to heave himself out, but that Bowie knife was quick to return; in order to not get stabbed in the eye, Raymond instinctively let go and traveled down the only escape there was.

Darkness quickly swallowed the gambler up as he was sent cascading down the chute. The bumpy ride threw him against the narrow walls, bruising his shoulders. He couldn’t see anything and couldn’t stop himself, so when the drop came it was truly terrifying. A near-vertical slope greeted him with a sense of weightlessness that was interrupted by a harsh thud as he landed. The gambler was winded and thought he broke his back, unable to breathe as he continued to descend, but those thoughts would be dismissed soon. A sharp turn in the chute unexpectedly threw Raymond’s skull against the metal wall, so harshly that he could feel the vibration in the walls and in his skull, and he was knocked out. 

His body traveled for only a moment more before being tossed into the cart used for pigs and corpses found in the demonic chambers below the house. Two long minutes passed before his eyes fluttered and a searing headache pulsed through his brain. Things were still dark and he didn’t know where he was, but he’d stopped moving. 

Raymond tried to sit up but the way he’d landed in the cart had put him in a compromising position. His knees were at the same height as his head and his feet were up in the air with his arms twisted in a similar fashion. He shimmied his way up as he collected his thoughts. 

He realized he must have been in the chamber and desperately tried to light any candles. Thankfully, the ones along the wall closest to him came to life and started a domino effect across the rest of the room. Able to see, he understood that he was in a cart and awkwardly made his way out. But, moving seemed to trigger a terribly dizziness, and he did his best to keep his balance.

Raymond tried to think of something to do—anything to do. This definitely wasn’t where he wanted to be. He looked down at his hands in a measly attempt to focus and saw blood. His right hand had a gash splitting between his middle and fourth finger, while his left hand was smeared with blood that wasn’t his own. 

_ Wasn’t his own… _ Raymond looked to the pentagram in the center of the room and thought up an idea. The blood was from the raven’s face, and demons would chase after the attacker if he used his blood to summon them. Yes, yes, of course! Ray hurried to one of the longest braids in the chamber—made of feathers, claws, teeth, and animal skins—and pulled as hard as he could. He ripped the entire thing from the ceiling and tossed it into the pentagram. Then he took his bloodied hand and slapped it onto the floor, smearing it across the stone.

Immediately, the candles began to melt. The wax flooded the area of the circular pentagram, just like what happened when Mr. Moore’s blood had been used. Raymond knew he only had so much time before the hellcrawlers would spring from the floor and create chaos; he dashed to the stairs with blurred vision and headed up. 

The smell of smoke became more imminent the higher he got. When he made it to the main floor a thin mask of black smoke had leaked into the room.  _ Sh-t,  _ they were burning the house. Raymond sprinted to the front doors, hoping for but not expecting Luther to be on the other side. Still, he unbolted the lock and threw the door open, finding none other than the raven on the other side. 

Neither of the two were expecting each other, but Ray was quicker to act. He kicked the raven as hard as he could, bringing his shoe between the attacker’s legs and bringing him to the floor before slamming the door. Full of fear and anger, Raymond suddenly remembered the guns that Luther told him to grab. They were upstairs in the satanists’ room. The gambler zipped to the stairs. 

He took the first few steps up as the raven threw the door open and scanned the area. Ray didn’t fault in his steps, he just kept going. 

Up to the second floor and down the hall he’d traveled, throwing open the bedroom door and hurrying into the room. The firearms were next to the bedside table, and when he saw them he felt instant paranoia. Fighting through it, Raymond picked up both guns, checked to see if they were loaded—they were—and turned to race back out. He held the shotgun by the barrels and wielded the revolver in his right hand. 

The sound of laughing and screeching could be heard downstairs. The gambler didn’t know what it was immediately but was soon to find out. 

The raven had made it up the stairs just as Raymond was approaching them, nearly colliding into him but backed off upon what he saw—the attacker was now holding a handgun of his own and raised his arm to aim. Ray couldn’t do the same.

Suddenly-yet-thankfully, the raven was thrown to the floor. A grey entity had slammed itself into his back and knocked him down, squealing and yipping. Of course, it was a demon, and it was hungry. 

And so where the others. 

Raymond tried to make it down the flight but had only taken the first step down before dozens upon dozens of demons flew or climbed up the stairs. They ranged in size, color, and enthusiasm but all followed the same direction. Nearly all of them ignored Ray and went straight for the screaming raven, dogpiling onto him and tearing his flesh. The gambler, terrified himself, continued down while some demons scratched him but did little else. 

Thick, black smoke caked the air around him, burned his eyes, and poisoned his lungs. He was gasping for air from all the rushing around, but now he couldn’t breathe. Through his shaky vision and the growing cloud he could spot the bright, dancing light of flames in the lounge. Raymond bent over and quickly shuffled to the front doors, fleeing the home. 

He felt the heat immediately, the flames already at the crossroads. The hallways to his right were eaten up by fire and were advancing his way. He pushed through a clear path and hurried out of the pods, fearing the absolute worst. What if Luther was hurt? What if he was dead? He was left alone with both Harris and the lumberjack without a weapon! What if they killed him and left him to the fire?

Ray escaped the smoke-trap and coughed his lungs clean once outside. He took gulps of fresh air as he moved, looking around for anyone,  _ anyone _ . Behind him, a burning red rage had eaten half of the house and sent a huge pillar of black smoke into the sky. It reached like a dark blade being thrust into the heavens, ascending past the clouds. 

On ground level, Raymond caught wind of some action. Yards away from him was Harris, the side of his head bloodied and he appeared to be just coming out of unconsciousness. Black ice littered the ground in broken shards or spikes jutting out from the surface. Even farther than those things, though, was Luther on the unhurt horse, tugging on the reins to make the animal buck. Its hooves swiped through the air as the lumberjack wearily blocked them on the ground.

The gambler sprinted past Harris and to the blonde, screaming at him, “ _ Hey! Right here! I’m here! _ ”

“ _ Get on!! _ ” Luther pulled the horse away from the lumberjack. 

Raymond raced over, tossing the shotgun to the blonde as he attempted to hop on. Yet, he was forced to stop: the lumberjack quickly regrouped and had fired a random bullet, making the steed buck in fear. Luther was nearly thrown off but managed to stay on. 

Ray, with shallow breaths, shoved his revolver into the blonde’s hands, “Go!  _ Go!! _ ” and smacked the horse’s thigh as hard as he could. The animal jumped and escaped to the bridge as Luther was shouting at Ray.

The gambler turned just as the lumberjack took another shot. Although Raymond felt no pain, he did feel his right foot kick out from under him. He fell on his face and experienced a warm, damp sensation on his ankle. It hardly mattered—the lumberjack was aiming again.

Raymond brought his grabbers from the ground and they pulled the hefty man down. Arms wrapped around his body as he was squeezed and claws tore at his face and limbs. The gambler pushed himself to his knees and looked over to Harris—who had just stood—and did the same to him. The clawed hands raked into fragile skin and tore him down to earth, leaving both men fighting an enemy they couldn't comprehend. 

Raymond knew that was the perfect time to make his escape. He pushed himself to his feet and tried to run, but landing on his right foot sent the most horrible shock of pain up through his entire body. It was as if all of his veins shriveled up and dried in order from his lower half up to his scalp. He fell again, gasping and yelping. Ray shoved his hands into the ground once more and pushed up, hopping up to his good foot before transforming into a crow and taking flight. 

He looked back at the burning base, the column of smoke growing ever-wider and ever-taller. He soared high into the air, far above the bridge, far above the road, far above the chaos ensuing below. 

He spotted Luther along the road, tugging on the horse and trying to turn it around. The crow dipped down to the blonde, and fluttered around him, crying out to the man whilst cawing. Luther spotted the bird and seemed to instantly understand, turning his horse back down the path. “Just follow me!” he called as the crow rose into the sky again. 

Raymond did just that, trailing as he watched Luther descend the trails and roads. From that height, Ray could see Springdale in the distance, and felt a small bit of safety in his chest. However, it was all thrown away when the adrenaline faded. 

While gliding through the air, letting the wind hit his face, the crow began to feel all the pain he’d suffered. His vision was still slightly-off and paired with a throbbing headache that felt similar to a migraine. His pulsing head reflected his turning stomach as it felt like he’d vomit. Eventually, he wasn’t able to look down as the height would probably freak him out enough to make him sick. The crow’s back felt like it was burning and his shoulders felt sore, but neither of those things were the worst among them all. 

It was the crow’s foot that felt terrible, and it was only then that Raymond had realized he’d been shot. A pulsing, burning, searing pain affected his entire leg, starting at the ankle. The foot felt entirely too heavy to be attached to the leg, as if it was holding on by only a toothpick. He imagined his foot might fall off and was terrified of the idea. 

Ray suddenly wasn’t sure if he would be able to make it to town. The amount of pain he experienced made him feel limp though he knew he was stiff and working. What if he just… stopped? Stopped working? And fell to the ground…? Fell… Fall… 

No, he had to keep going. He shook himself awake and made himself continue. Wings out and spread, head forward. All he had to do was glide. There was no work to be done if only he kept his wings out.

He just hoped they would stop soon. 

It would take a short while to get to Springdale, though.

  
  


* * *

  
  


When they finally arrived in town, the crow was about ready to stop. The sharp pains in his back and foot had radiated all across his body and he was finding it increasingly harder not to fall asleep. His eyes would drift closed constantly and his heavy limbs felt as if they were pulling him closer to the earth. Time and time again the crow attempted to heal his wounds with his abilities but the pain never ceased. 

Luther rode into town and the crow started to drift downward in hopes of landing and getting help. But, Luther never slowed his horse or looked up for Raymond, he just kept going. Ray did his very best to keep up. 

However, the blonde was stopped; the crow saw a man with scraggly hair run out of the bar—Andrew, he recognized him—and hop over to Luther. “Wait! Wait! Stag!”

The blonde slowed but made it clear that he had to go. The crow circled overhead. “I can’t stay! I need to leave!”

“What the hell is happening, Stag?! What’s burning up there?!” the bartender pointed back at the tower of smoke that was quite the distance away, still rising above the mountains. “Where’s the Miss? Where’s Abe?”

Luther grabbed his hair. “Mabel’s dead. Abe managed to get away.”

Andrew’s face went pale.

“Listen to me, there are dangerous men up there! At most three—for the love of everything holy,  _ don’t _ talk to them. Don’t mention any names, don’t help them, and don’t say you know us.”

“What’s… What’s going on?” the bartender could hardly speak. 

“Andrew. You never knew us,” Luther hissed. And with that, he hit the reins and was riding away. The man with scraggly hair was left standing there, baffled and confused. Raymond wanted to shift out of his bird form and explain everything to Andrew but knew he couldn’t. They had to get as far away as possible as fast as possible. The crow followed the blonde rider. 

They left Springdale.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Raymond couldn’t take it anymore. He hadn’t been keeping track of the time or the distance but knew that they were far away from town. He’d lost sight of the column of smoke long ago, just blindly following Luther as they traveled south. He didn’t know where his partner was going, but he just couldn’t hold out. The crow dove down and caught up with the rider, cawing in a guttural voice and getting the blonde’s attention before gliding to the ground and collapsing. The bird laid on his side and closed his eyes, listening for the silence of clomping hooves. He was sure that they were alone, here in the middle of nowhere, but even if there were people around he wouldn’t care. Raymond shifted out of his crow form and lay there in the dust, panting. 

Luther hopped off the horse and ran over to the gambler, getting on his knees next to him. “Sh-t, Ray…” he cursed, his voice shaky. Pale hands gently pushed Raymond onto his back, but that hurt like all-hell. There was a tear in his coat and shirt where he’d been carved into and the dust entered the wound via those openings. The gambler groaned and jolted upward, trying to sit up but struggling to do so as his world spun. Luther figured out the problem quickly and helped him up. He seemed to be struggling with what to do first. “Ray? Ray, can you hear me?” he asked.

The gambler nodded in a drunkish manner. 

He felt Luther’s hands running down his leg, going for his hurt ankle. “F-ck… F-ck…” he cursed, “Ray, you got shot. You…” he carefully pulled the gambler’s pant leg up to see the wound. Raymond peered down, and though his vision was foggy, he could still see the damage. His leg was mangled and bloodied. The bullet hit the side of his ankle, entering through one side and exiting out the other. A small hole with dried blood around it could be found on the inside of his ankle, and a much larger, much more damaging, and unclean hole was on the other side. It had been blown apart, his foot hanging by shattered bones that could easily be seen as one—split like a twig—stuck out of his skin. Raymond felt like he could throw up or pass out. “Luther…” he squeaked, “Luther, I can’t heal that… I can’t…”

“It’s okay, it’s okay. I’ll fix it,” the blonde told him, “Just stay still and stay quiet. Breathe.”

Ray did as he was told, focusing on breathing and calming himself down, though it hardly worked. He could feel himself hyperventilating and knew he wasn’t getting enough oxygen. His vision wasn’t just blurry, now, he was starting to see white specks in the air around him. 

Luther was sifting through his pockets, searching for something in particular until he found it: a pocket knife that Raymond had seen once or twice before. The blonde showed the small blade, looked down at the gambler’s ankle, and then took the knife to his own skin. There was no elegance with his cut, only blood. He drove the knife into the flesh of his arm, pushing until the entire blade was encased in muscle. Raymond winced and reached out, trying to stop him. “Luther…!”

“Raymond, don’t,” the blonde barked, “Just try to calm down.”

Ray couldn’t pull his eyes away, though. The specks were moving fast and growing in number. Luther held his bleeding arm over the gambler’s ankle, letting the hot liquid drip onto the gunshot wound. The blood seeped between the bones and muscle and began to form them back together. However, it just wasn’t fast enough. Luther, again, stabbed his arm. Then again. And again. Every jab became quicker and more aggressive. He didn’t stop, his face twisted into terrible pain as he did so. 

Raymond felt like crying. He watched and quietly pleaded for Luther to stop hurting himself, but the blonde didn’t cease until his entire left arm was a mess of red blood and tissue, skin hanging off the limb, pouring out fluid.

“Please… Please, stop…” the gambler squeaked. 

Luther did not.

The gambler’s vision was going dark now. He leaned back on his elbows, desperately trying to breathe, but knew he was about to pass out. “Luther… Luther…” he begged, closing his eyes. Everything stopped.

When Raymond came back into consciousness, the blonde was over him, performing resuscitation by forcing air into his body via mouth-to-mouth. Ray took a sharp inhale and coughed, Luther holding his face as he struggled to recollect himself. The blonde leaned over the gambler’s chest, clutching one of Raymond’s hands while he mumbled and begged, “Please, f-cking… please, stay with me…”

Raymond took deep, shaky breaths, squeezing Luther’s hand while blood seeped between their skin. He was staring up at the grey sky, water coming down in the form of light rain. His back stung and his lungs felt like they could collapse, but he was awake. He just had to stay that way, now.

The blonde gathered himself after a long moment, throwing a sleeve over his eyes as he sat up. He was clenching his teeth and twisting his face in a painful fashion. Luther was trying his very best not to get emotional and continue with his previous task. Raymond didn’t sit up. His back was hurting and he wanted to look at the blonde to ensure he was okay, but he knew then he’d have to look at the mangled mess at his feet. That might make him pass out again, and he didn’t want to do that, for his partner’s sake. It clearly scared the hell out of him…

It took around five minutes for his ankle to heal completely. Blood coated his skin as Luther constrained himself. Ray didn’t know for sure if the flesh had entirely bandaged itself, but the blonde seemed satisfied and moved himself over. His eyes didn’t meet Raymond’s as the gambler sat up. They managed to remove Ray’s coat and lift his shirt enough to access the wound on his back. The cut started just beneath his shoulder blade and ended a few inches below. Though short in length, the cut was particularly deep. Luther got to work, using his free hand to smear his own blood over Raymond’s back. It stung and ached whenever the gambler was touched but he didn’t voice any testimony. 

Ray was still entirely dizzy and fatigued but at least he didn’t feel like his foot was going to fall off. With the cold air clinging to his body and the rain beginning to dampen his clothes he tried to focus and heal what he could. He wanted his head to stop hurting and for his world to stop spinning, but neither attempts worked. He worried about the smaller wounds, instead. The split in his fingers, the bruises, the scuffs here and there… 

Eventually, Luther was sitting right next to Raymond. He kept his bloodied hands away but his eyes stayed on the gambler. “What else happened?” the blonde asked quietly.

Ray’s gaze was drawn to the bloodied splotch on his partner’s shirt. He gestured to it, “...Ain’t you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Luther told him quickly, “What else?”

Raymond thought for a moment, “I hit my head… Got knocked out.”

“...Well… That’ll take a day or two for me to heal… It’s not an open wound, so...” he explained as if to remove himself from any emotional clutches. He wiped his hand off on a tuft of grass, removing most of the blood. He brought that same hand up to Raymond’s face, holding it gingerly. “...just give it a second.”

The gambler held onto his partner’s arm and let his head be supported by Luther. Even without magic, it was better to not have to hold his own skull up, constantly swaying. The pale hand was secure and allowed little movement. Raymond let his eyelids fall shut, sighing as a heavy sadness fell upon him.

A few seconds passed and so did the majority of the pain. Every tick of the clock warded off the terrible throbs in his skull. His headache slowly dissipated. 

After a minute of sitting there, Luther took his arm away. Raymond’s eyes fluttered open and he lifted his head. 

“...Your headache will come back, but… later…” Luther sighed, arm still dripping, “...Anything else…?”

Raymond shook his head very slowly. “No…”

The blonde was quiet for a moment, proceeding to hold his mangled arm. He appeared to be concentrating, although his fingers were shaking, but never broke the focus. Patches of flesh on his arm began moving on their own, morphing back to fit with other patches like a jigsaw puzzle. The blood ceased to drip but the fluid that had already escaped was left on the skin to dry. Ray watched the morbid sight, unappealing to his brain but refusing to look away.

“I guess… I passed out..” the gambler mumbled. 

“Yeah…” Luther answered as he was finishing up, “...You weren’t breathing… I panicked…”

“...Oh…” Raymond pushed his fingers through the dirt. He tried to shift the attention. “Did you… uhm…” the gambler tripped over his words, “...heal your shoulder?”

“Yes…”

“What… What happened to you? Back at the base? Did you get any more hurt…?” Ray asked.

“...” There was a long pause. The blonde was clearly battling emotions that he was keeping hidden behind his face. His blue eyes were entirely filled with complicated feelings and he bit his lip so hard Raymond was afraid he’d make it bleed. Finally, he answered, “I tried to go after you while that guy was chasing you, but Harris and the big guy cut me off… I ran, they set fire to the house, and we wrestled out in the yard. I got shot again, in the leg,” he pointed to his right thigh, a split in the fabric showing pale skin. Raymond hadn’t even noticed that, but upon closer inspection he could see the very subtle stain of blood on those black trousers. “I just started throwing them… I think I knocked Harris out a few times… I tried to get into the house to find you but I kept getting blocked by the big guy.” He sighed, “I saw the one who was chasing you go back to the house… I thought he got you… I thought you died… What happened?”

Ray answered, “I was… stupid… I ran out and thought I could push him down the chute next to the pens, but it… didn’t work. I got pushed down instead, hit my head against the wall, I don’t know how long I was out for…” he took a breath, “I didn’t know what to do. I just did the only thing that came to my mind—I summoned demons. Then I ran upstairs, grabbed our guns, and by the time I was heading out the demons came and attacked the one with the knife. I don’t know if he’s dead or…” a pause, “...I went outside and found you…”

They were both very still and very silent. Raymond held his hands with each other, very cold but refusing to cause motion to put his coat on. Luther was violently drumming his fingers against his legs, even clawing at his pants. His head hung heavily and he hid his face. Raymond tried to reach out to hold his partner’s hands, but the blonde pulled away. “No… I’m… having a moment…” his fingernails collected dirt beneath them as he prodded the ground, “...Just…”

The gambler felt weighted heat in his chest. It was like shame. He knew he shouldn’t have felt guilty—he knew that the drumming and clawing was something Luther couldn’t control and his partner probably just didn’t want to hurt him—but it still felt… bad. He cleared his throat and asked, “Is Mabel really…?” He never finished.

The blonde nodded. “She’s gone…” 

The lump in Ray’s throat was really starting to hurt. He was choking back tears. “Why did this happen again…” It wasn’t so much a question as it was a cry to God. A very quiet cry to someone who didn’t seem to care about them. It was too late to care. They were too far gone, weren’t they? “Is this just… bad luck? Is it us?” His voice was wavering and cracking, and he swallowed his pride. “How did they find us?” He refused to let himself cry. “Why did this… happen…”

The blonde shook his head. “...I don’t know…” His voice was the most pitiful Raymond had ever heard it. There was no pride in his tone, no hint of ego, no leadership in his posture, no confidence in his demeanor. Luther looked so lost. So… broken.

The gambler couldn’t stand to look at such a sight. The closest thing he could compare it to was a fallen angel—if there was such a thing, Luther was definitely it. A hero, so defeated. So down. So backwards. 

Raymond pushed himself forward and took Luther into a secure embrace. He didn’t care if the blonde didn’t hug back or push him away or even refuse to react—he just needed to be close to something comforting.

His partner hesitated before responding. Pale arms wrapped around the gambler’s torso, holding him tightly. Fingers drummed and grabbed violently at the fabric. They sat there with each other, unmoving, not speaking, hardly breathing. The world stood still. 

Eventually, the question came up. “...What… do we… do…?”

And the answer wasn’t surprising. “...I don’t know…”


	22. Long Tracks, Longer Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matthew 10:28

After the scare, the satanists gathered themselves and hopped on their horse, riding south only to get farther from the destruction of the base. They weren’t sure if they were safe to stay in one spot since Harris always managed to find them, so they agreed to keep moving. 

They took turns directing the horse. They’d switch seats when one of them needed to rest and take the entire night off to let their steed sleep. Raymond was the first to mount behind Luther and fall asleep, seeing as he very much needed it. It was very uncomfortable and he had to put some trust in himself to not fall off, but he eventually let himself slip into slumber. Nothing out of the ordinary happened. 

When he woke up his head was spinning with throbbing pain. He let Luther know about it and the blonde helped him out. Then, conversation ensued.

“Do you need to sleep?” Raymond asked.

“No,” Luther answered, something else on his mind, “I don’t quite have a plan, but… I think we should keep heading south and take a train… somewhere.”

“Why that move?”

“The only way I could think of Harris knowing about our location is if people tip him off. We haven’t actually moved that far since Vegas. I think if we take a train really far away from here there’s no way he’d be able to track us down. We’d be miles and miles away.”

“We’re not going to try to confront him?”

The blonde looked over his shoulder at Raymond. “Is that what you’re thinking?”

“Well… I dunno… I thought you’d be pissed by now and want to take the fight to him. But… that’s dumb, yeah…”

“It’s not dumb.”

“I think we’re still outnumbered, though. If it’s a three-to-two fight, that ain’t fair. It is dumb.”

“ _ It’s not dumb _ ,” Luther sighed, “Trust me, I’ve been considering it. If either of us were very good with guns or could screw our heads on enough to concentrate with our powers we might be able to take them down. But, as much as I seem like it, I’m not all that great with my shotgun and I’d rather not use our powers if we’re in public. So, I think our best option is to try to find help.”

“Couldn’t we just live out in the woods? Middle of nowhere?”

“No, no. We still have to serve Beata, otherwise, we lose our powers. And building a sanctuary for her is going to take way too long to do. We’ll lose everything by then.”

“We can’t lose them and get them back?”

“Demons aren’t that forgiving, Ray. About as forgiving as Harris.”

The gambler lowered his brow in frustration of the situation. “Do you got any other friends that are satanists?”

“No, not in this country anyway,” a pause, “We really need a base to set up shop at. Even if it’s abandoned or anything, so long as it’s underground or hidden from the world we can try to collect things and get our business moving. That might be the fastest and easiest thing we can do to get help. We could summon some lesser demons to help, even plead with Beata, anything. But… I don’t know where to go.”

Raymond had a thought and played with it, but cautiously. “I don’t s’pose you’d want to go back north to your hometown? Set up a base there?”

“ _ No _ ,” Luther responded sharply. He took a breath, then exhaled slowly. “No,” he repeated, softer, “Even if I was on good terms with everyone, we’d be found out quickly.”

There was a long moment of silence between the two. The clomping of hooves and slight breeze were the only things to be heard. 

The gambler was deep in thought, fighting with himself. He could present the offer, but if they went through with it he was afraid it would hurt himself in the long run. He hadn’t been there in ages… what would they think if he showed up like the way he was?

Raymond let out an inaudible breath through his nose. “If we’re going south… we could head east, too, and visit  _ my _ hometown,” he threw the thought into the air.

Luther caught it. “You sure? Wouldn’t that be just as bad as visiting mine?”

“I dunno… I don’t think so,” Ray said, “We might be able to make a base in one of the old farmhouses if they’re not being used. We’d just have to be sneaky. And I’d have to see my sister…”

The blonde was hesitant to respond, clearly unsure about the idea. “What’ll you do if she finds out about us?”

“I dunno. I was figurin` I’d probably have to explain it to her upfront.”

“That’s suicide—”

“I know, I know,” Ray interrupted, “But if I lie to her, it’s murder.

“If I want any help from her, I’ll have to be transparent. She’s older, she owns the house, she practically owns me. I hope that… maybe… since I’m her brother she’ll understand? Maybe she’ll see my side of the coin as justified? I just… don’t… know…

“But… I’m not expectin` her to even take us under her wing in the first place, so maybe we won’t have to worry `bout it at all…” he ended it with a sorrowful note. 

Luther still wasn’t too fond of the idea. Ray could tell by his tense muscles and the way he gripped the reins. “Well… let’s head that way… and if we change our minds we can always switch courses.” 

“Right,” Raymond agreed, silently hoping they would, indeed, change their minds.

  
  


* * *

  
  


A day, a night, and another day passed before they reached anywhere close to the establishment of a train station. They rode into a small town and found the station, though became increasingly worried as more people began to eye them. Raymond could see the concern on the strangers’ faces—his paranoia got the best of him and made him think that they all knew who he and his partner were. Luther, though, was being reasonable. Seeing that there was no train and nobody was even waiting for a train he assumed that there was plenty of time to stop in one of the shops and get himself and Raymond some cloaks.

As they hopped off the horse he told Ray that they were being stared at because of how beat up they looked. Sure, they might have been fine after using their powers to heal themselves, but their clothes were still dirty and bloody. They’d just need something to cover themselves up. Ray stood outside with the horse to ensure nobody took it, keeping his head down and trying his best to look natural.

Luther shuffled out of the shop doors in a few minutes, handing a simple black cloak to Raymond as he was fiddling with the money in his pocket. He looked rather frustrated and defeated, which wasn’t exactly shocking given the circumstances, but he voiced his disappointment. “You don’t have any cash, do you?” he asked.

The gambler shook his head. “I didn’t grab anythin` when we left for town.” He threw the long, thick piece of cloth over his shoulders and buttoned it at his collar. It draped over his body and covered his clothes clear to his ankles. Luther’s looked the same.

“Well, we’re pretty much broke. I’ve barely got a dollar. We have to use it for food, but what the hell do we do about the train?”

Raymond was quiet, honestly not knowing. “Should we just take the horse?”

“The whole point of taking the train was so we couldn’t be tracked. We’d be too far gone too fast for Harris to catch up,” the blonde hissed, “Every damn time we travel on foot or with an animal, it’s always bit us in the ass—”

“ _ Okay _ , okay…” Raymond hushed him. 

Luther huffed. “Sorry…”

They sort of looked around, quiet for a moment. The blonde asked, “Where’s your hometown?”

“It’s close to Shreveport.”

Luther shook his head, “Depending on how much they charge on the trains, we’ll need $30 at the most.”

“ _ $30? _ ” Ray spit.

“I know,” his partner responded, “I don’t know how the hell to get that much money that quick, though.”

The gambler looked at his shoes and gripped the reins in his hand. There was too much weight on his shoulders for him to think clearly. He had no ideas, no thoughts, no nothing…

The reins in his hand were wrinkled and bent from the harsh grip. The horse behind him was probably worn out and hungry. Even if their only option was to ride the horse to Ray’s town, they’d have to manage the animal just as much as they managed themselves. And maybe it…

...wait. The horse.  _ The horse. Sell the horse! _ Raymond’s head popped up as he said it, “Let’s sell the horse.”

Luther met his eyes and raised his brows, still looking defeated but simultaneously satisfied with that proposal. “That’s not a bad idea.”

Ray nodded, “Sell it for $30? That’s enough for us and cheap enough for anyone who wants it.”

“You know what, that sounds good,” the blonde nodded, standing up straight, “Yeah. Let’s do that,” a pause, “Uhm… Let’s check the train schedule though. See how much time we have.”

They led their steed over to the station, looking at the painted board that was hung on the side of the wall of the building. Checking the time, it was around noon, and the train would be passing through in another hour. Plenty of time, hopefully. 

Now equipped with concealing clothes, a plan, and the hopes of money, they went on their way into the center of the small town and made themselves a spot at one of the corners of the block. Before they reeled people in, though, Raymond sent himself out to get food for the both of them. They were incredibly hungry and both knew they’d need to eat. He took what money they had left and made himself useful.

Since Thanksgiving had only just ended there were some holiday-themed treats still being presented in the windows of shops. Pies, full turkeys, and sweets appealed to him greatly but he knew better than to waste his money on candy or try to buy something more expensive.

The gambler ended up purchasing soup and bread, knowing that would probably sustain them for a while. He came back, Luther offering him a smile when they met up, and they filled their bellies.

When lunch was over, they waved to people on the street and sidewalks who were passing by. Luther was definitely a better businessman than Ray and a few attempts of the blonde’s almost roped strangers in, but they hadn’t had much luck for a while.

Thirty minutes passed and the two were starting to get nervous. Raymond did his best to put on a friendly smile and Luther worked his charm, but nobody was interested. Panicking a bit, the satanists mumbled to each other what might happen if they didn’t succeed.

But then, finally, a glint of hope. A colored man dressed in middle-class clothing walked up to them, asking, “Excuse me?”

Raymond and Luther brought their attention to him.

“I don’t know that I heard you clearly or not, but were you two wanting to sell your horse?”

Luther jumped on the opportunity. “Yes! Are you interested?”

“Very much,” the man stepped forward and examined the steed, “It’s got a lovely saddle and looks healthy. Does the saddle come with it?”

“Of course!”

“How much?”

“$40.”

“Only $40? What’s wrong with it?” the man looked concerned.

Raymond also looked confused, but for the opposite reason: that wasn’t the price they agreed on. Luther looked worried, sort of squinting his eyes and giving a light chuckle. “Well, can you tell I’ve never sold a horse before?” he tried to add light conversation, but the possible buyer didn’t respond. The blonde continued, “The thing is, we found her. My partner and I are traveling across the country and came upon this beauty on a lonely trail on our way here. We called out for anyone, wondering if they may have gone into the woods and left their horse waiting. Must have been looking for an hour, right?” he nodded to Raymond.

Ray nodded back, playing along. “Right.”

“When we couldn’t find anyone, we took her and rode her here. We don’t know anything about this horse, don’t know her background at all, but she runs as smooth as a river and as strong as steel. We thought $40 was fair given the mystery of her past.”

The man touched his chin, pondering to himself. “Possible, for the horse. Though it still seems cheap,” he prodded at the saddle and harness, “But these two things alone would surely add up to $80! And it’s clear she was well-taken care of, wherever she may have come from.”

Luther and Raymond gave each other a look of excitement upon hearing the price but were both speechless.

“Why don’t I give you $120?” he generously offered.

The blonde looked quick to grab at the money, but Raymond was too modest to let that happen. “I think $80 will be fine, really!”

“Are you sure?” the man asked.

Ray nodded, “You’re right, with the foggy background of her, who knows if she’ll come down with anything. You should—”

Luther interrupted him before he could get another word out. “How about $100?”

The gambler gave him a look. 

The buyer stood quiet for a moment. “...Well? Is it $80 or $100?”

The satanists looked at each other, Ray frowning, Luther smiling. Within the next few seconds they were both straight-faced, sighed, and the blonde looked over to the buyer. “$90.”

The man looked at the gambler.

He nodded, “$90.”

“$90 it is,” the buyer said.

They made their trade, both sides happy with their deal, and went in their own directions. Luther gladly counted the cash before hiding it away, surprised with the interaction. “That was certainly more than we could’ve hoped for!”

Ray grinned, “Yeah,” he slicked a hand over his hair, pushing it back over his head. “But, uh… You raised the price, initially?”

“Yeah. You present it at a higher bargain, then if they want to negotiate you can have some wiggle-room with the price.”

“Oh,” Raymond shrugged, “ _ Can you tell I’ve never sold a horse before? _ ” he playfully mocked.

Luther chuckled. “C’mon, let’s go wait by the train. We’ve only got a bit before it arrives.”

The satanists walked back over to the station, finding that many more people were gathering along the side of the railroad. They had bags and sat on benches, stood by the posts, or sat close to the edge of the tracks. The partners acquired their tickets before they found themselves among the crowd, waiting with high hopes to get on.

The train could be heard sooner than it could be seen. The folks along the tracks stood and backed up as the locomotive chugged up to the station until it came to a halt. Black smoke emitted from its head and hovered higher into the air. 

Luther and Raymond luckily found themselves near the front of the line and were one of the first to get on. Stepping inside, the smell of ash was heavy, amongst other various odors like food or tobacco. The gambler picked a seat close to a window and Luther sat right next to him. 

It was quite roomy in the train… for the first few seconds. More and more people piled onto the locomotive, finding any seats they could. The satanists found themselves sitting across from a small family, and just next to a couple who took up the rest of the seat next to Luther. Raymond tried to make himself as small as possible as not to take up any extra room for the strangers sharing their seat, but he ended up being uncomfortably squished against the wall. He tried to shimmy into a decent position but nothing really worked. 

Luther patted Ray’s leg and gave him a smile. He tried to make small conversation to ease the situation. “Ever been on a train before?”

“No, this’ll be a first.”

“Me too.”

“Really? Thought you did everythin`.”

“That’s a bit of a high standard to meet,” he chuckled.

The family in front of them and the couple next to them both had large bags that they were searching through. Most of them pulled out books or other items to keep them busy. The satanists had nothing to do other than sit and rest—which was entirely fine for Raymond, and also entirely needed.

After a bit, the train whistle sounded and the whole machine jutted forward. It caught Ray off guard, but soon enough they were moving. The loud chugging of the engine and the turning of the wheels could easily be heard once the locomotive began to pick up speed, and the window rattled slightly, but the ride was rather exciting for the gambler. He watched the buildings of the town move faster and faster and faster until eventually they were gone and all that was left were trees and open countryside. 

He felt tapping on his leg. Luther still had a hand on his thigh and was mindlessly tapping away, like he usually did. His bright blue eyes were gazing out the window and he held a content expression. Raymond smiled at him as he took the pale hand and held it. The blonde smiled back, allowing the gambler to do so. They both looked out the window together. 

The seconds turned to moments, moments turned to minutes, and minutes to hours. Within the first hour, both of them were extremely fatigued. With all the noise of the train and the voices of other people around them, Ray thought it would be enough to distract him from sleepy thoughts, but he was wrong. His brain canceled out the extra sounds and focused on a foggy noise in his mind. 

Luther’s head landed on the seat next to the gambler’s. When Raymond looked he saw that his partner had his eyes closed and was resting. He figured he should do the same; it was going to be a long time before they made it to their destination.

Raymond rested his head against the seat, still holding onto his partner’s hand, and took one last look outside. A vast field of harvested crops stretched for miles and was the last thing he saw before he let his heavy eyelids fall shut and he drifted to sleep. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


The journey lasted a day and a half. They jumped from station to station, had to sleep between buildings outside since the passenger trains didn’t board during the night, and rode clear to Shreveport. By the time everything was said and done Raymond was sick and tired of the train. He doubted he’d ever ride one again unless his body forced himself to sleep through the entire ride—he could still smell the ash of the coal and the sweat of the other passengers even outside of the locomotive, and the loud noises were much less subtle than they seemed the first day. Not to mention the crowdedness of it all…

It didn’t matter, though. They were finally in Louisiana, only having to pay $23 in their endeavor, and hopped off at the large city of Shreveport. The city was exceptionally large for only being around 50 years old since its founding. It sat just next to a huge, beautiful lake that glistened in the winter sun. Boats and ships were always floating about in the lake, making a profit from fishing and transporting and such.

Raymond had been here plenty of times before he left—his hometown wasn’t far from it. An easy but very long walk was the only thing that stood between the city and his town. And, though being in the midst of it all gave him the slight comfort of familiarity, it also gave him much more anxiety than he would have liked. He was trying his best to push the image of his family and former friends from his mind but it was becoming increasingly difficult the closer he got to them. 

The satanists walked out to the business section of the city, enjoying the integrated culture and professional aspect of it all. The last trip on the train had endured much longer than they expected it to and both of them were quite hungry. They went to the market and found themselves something good to eat, then sat at a bench along the side of a walkway. People passed them and paid them no mind—in fact, with the setting sun, there weren’t too many people out and about. 

Raymond felt comfortable enough to talk. “Should we station ourselves here for tonight and leave in the mornin`?”

“How far away is your hometown?” Luther asked

“If we go on foot, I’d reckon six or seven hours away.”

“Yikes,” he hissed, “Yeah, might as well rest one more night.”

“Outside or find a place to stay?”

“I’d like to save what money we have in case we need it.”

“Outside, then,” Ray nodded. 

They took a few more bites of their meal before continuing. Luther asked, “You visit Shreveport much when you still lived in the state?”

“Yeah, whole lot. When I wasn’t broodin` I was the errand boy. Sold cattle out here, bought fish, sometimes crops if the harvest went bad.”

“So, it’s familiar?”

“Yeah. I’ve been recognizing buildings and everything since we got here. Nothin` exciting, just… sort of glad to be so close to home again.”

The blonde smiled, “Anyone recognize you yet?”

“I don’t reckon they would,” he chuckled, “I used to have this long bush of hair that I would push back—looked like the wind was always smackin` me in the face.”

Luther chuckled with him.

“I cut it right after I left. But, uh, of course, it’s only been a bit over half a year since I last visited. Hasn’t been too long, now, who knows who might recognize me.”

“Funny, isn’t it? Hasn’t even been a full year since we met each other and all this chaos has happened,” Luther delivered the line like a joke, and the gambler did give a chortle, but there was an obvious looming shadow over the statement. 

Ray sighed, playing all the craziness back in his head. He cleared his throat, asking, “You’re… okay, right?”

Blue eyes glanced over at him. “...What do you mean?”

“I mean, with everyone… leavin`... `round us. I know you knew Nana and Mabel long before I ever did and I just…” he looked away, “It must be heavy.”

Luther sat his food on his lap and sat back. He took a breath and exhaled slowly. “It is, but…” he shrugged, “I don’t know. I think I’m just trying to block it out right now.”

“Oh. Sorry…” Ray swallowed.

“No, you’re not hurting anything. I think we  _ should _ talk about it. You know?”

The gambler looked back at his partner and nodded. “Yeah. I know.” He thought of something to say. Quickly he went, “I guess… how are you feelin` `bout the miss? She just…”

Luther rubbed the back of his neck. “Mabel’s always been very distant. I honestly don’t know that much about her other than what I’ve witnessed. She and I have been close, but not like… friends… more like business partners. Not to say that she didn’t matter to me—without her I would have been crazier than I am now,” he forced a chuckle, “But… I don’t know… You and I both know where she is. And, with all the demons she summoned through the years, some would have had to find her down there. They probably helped her.”

Ray frowned. “You’re not very afraid of death, are you?”

“I guess not. I mean, what’s human life compared to human death? You build yourself just to lose everything in the end? Might as well dedicate your life to something that might kill you but will definitely give you a headstart in the afterlife.”

The gambler shook his head. “That’s… so backwards to me. It doesn’t seem right.”

Luther squinted, “Why not?”

“I mean, you should live life to make a name out of yourself, right? So that even after you die, you can still leave an impact?”

“Well, sure, but only a few people in the world are actually going to make such a huge name for themselves that it survives through the torture of time. C’mon, what are us two compared to George Washington?”

“I’m not sayin` you gotta shoot for the highest deal and become the President,” Ray said, “But even a small name is better than no name. Even if it’s your great-grandkids mentionin` your name in a story to their great-grandkids, that should be enough, shouldn’t it?”

Luther bit his lip, “Seems like a pretty small prize for such a long, awful journey.”

“Life ain’t awful.”

“It isn’t? Really?” the blonde swung his head this way and that, throwing an arm out, “Look at where we are, Ray! Homeless and being hunted down! We’re just prey at this point, waiting to die.”

“Don’t say that,” Raymond growled, “We’re gonna get out of this, you said it yourself.”

“Not just prey to Harris. Prey to God. She’s just waiting for the right moment to kill me off.”

“ _ She _ ? Who?” Ray was suddenly concerned, “Is there someone else?”

Luther looked like he messed up. “No! No,” he quieted down, drumming his fingers on the wood of the bench, “No one else… just… God. That’s the  _ she _ ,” he said, sighing, “I’ve just got a lot of stuff up here mixed up,” he gestured to his head, “And with the world coming down on us it’s not helping.” He closed his eyes and rubbed his temple.

Raymond realized that Luther was in a state of vulnerability. He hadn’t been told everything about his partner’s past, he knew, and he was genuinely scared to get into the details of it. But, at the same time, he knew he had to be a vent for the blonde. Ray slowly reached a hand out, placing it on top of Luther’s working hand and calming his tapping. “Luther,” he started quietly, “What’s goin` on…?”

The blonde sighed, frustrated, and put his other hand down. He slumped over and held the gambler’s hand while looking away from him. “I just…” he shook his head, “I get what you’re saying. I roped you into this whole stunt—you would have never gotten into these… activities… if you hadn’t met me. You still love your family. But I just… can’t relate.”

Raymond kept listening. 

“People used to call me so many things in my hometown. I just… none of it was good. And I…” he didn’t finish that thought, but looked to the gambler to pursue a different one, “Ray? Did you ever think of your mom as… as God?”

It certainly was a strange question, but Raymond didn’t throw his partner any backlash. He only answered honestly, with a simple, “No…”

“Exactly,” he sighed, depressed, “I did… She was the only thing I ever really knew to be close to it. She was so… authoritative… and kind… and…” his expression changed from sadness to anger and he looked away, “...and then I guess I did something stupid and she threw me away.”

“But you didn’t do anythin` wrong—”

“I know. I know, but, I didn’t know back then. And, sometimes today I still don’t know for sure…” he clenched his teeth, “I was treated like the Devil to a point where I thought…  _ Maybe _ … Maybe I was just the closest thing to the Devil at that point. Maybe I am now. Maybe I am the Devil, truly.”

“Luther…”

“I know,” he forced a small grin onto his face, “It’s… ridiculous… But that’s my mentality. I’ve already left a pretty ugly portrait for my family. My name carries too much weight to mention at this point. I’ll always be known as the f-cking Devil, so what’s the point in trying to save my reputation? Might as well go all-out.

“And I hope if I ever do see my mother again, I can show her what I really felt.”

Raymond sat there for a moment, just staring at his partner. There was so much baggage that he still held, and it made the gambler feel as if the blonde’s confession at the waterfall didn’t do as much as he thought it did. He hated how Luther felt about himself because Luther didn’t know how Raymond felt about it. It was frustrating to love someone so much, and they accepted that, but they couldn’t even put up with themselves. It was frustrating to a horribly depressing point, a point that Raymond only reached a few rare times in his life. Looking at his lover brought those feelings back at full-swing.

But it wasn’t Luther who was hurting him, he knew. Ray didn’t dare blame his partner in the slightest for what he felt. He knew it wasn’t the blonde’s fault for anything that happened to him, even if he only knew the blonde’s side of the story. It was enough to convince him—even if Luther  _ had _ done something questionable, abuse and scarring and leaving mental damage to his lover was too criminal to forgive. 

It wasn’t Luther who was hurting him. It was trying to love him so much that hurt Ray. Loving him just to help occupy that pit in the blonde’s chest that refused to fill. Loving Luther hurt… but Raymond loved him anyway.

The gambler moved closer to his partner, putting a hand on his back. They touched foreheads and sat in painful tranquility.

“Luther,” Ray began, “Even if none of it matters right now… Or if it never matters… In the end, you and I will be the only ones that remember each other in a good light. And that’s okay…” he whispered, “Because we’ll be the only ones who know our sides of our stories. We’ll be the only ones who matter to each other by the end of it all.”

Blonde curls had fallen over a pale face, but that pink smile could still be seen. It was small and broken but offered some clarity in the midst of the fog around them. Raymond leaned forward, embracing his partner and kissing him on the cheek, not caring who saw.

Luther cared less. He held Ray’s face and met his lips, kissing him as darkness swallowed the city. 

Raymond held onto him tightly. 


	23. Family Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1 Timothy 5:8

Luther woke Raymond up early the next morning. The sun hadn’t risen and the eastern horizon wasn’t even a lighter shade of blue, which would have indicated dawn’s light. The city was quiet and inactive, hardly a noise to be heard. 

“Ray,” the blonde beckoned.

“I’m up,” he responded, sitting up from the bench, “What is it?”

“You said it’d take half a day to get to your hometown. We should start going now.”

Raymond rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. “...What time is it?”

“Time to get up,” the blonde teased.

Eventually, they woke themselves and started moving. It was somewhere between 5AM and 6AM, Ray had concluded, the sun too shy to show its face very early in the winter months. He was familiar with the cold bite by now, hardly bothering to be upset over it. 

The gambler knew that there wouldn’t be many carriages directly traveling to and from his village unless it was one of the townsfolk picking up supplies, and he doubted they’d give him and Luther a ride. Plus, it didn’t seem like Luther wanted to wait for a carriage to come anyway, so on foot they went. They’d saved some food from last night—all cold now—but it would sustain them as they traveled. 

They were pretty much alone on the road there. The blonde tried to make conversation. “What’s your hometown like?”

Ray answered, “It’s in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by farmland. Of course, there ain’t gonna be anythin` growin` right now, so you’ll be able to see flat land for miles.”

“Sounds exciting,” Luther teased. 

“It’s pretty,” the gambler elbowed him and got a laugh. 

“How do you think people will react to us?”

“Well, we’re gonna get a lot of weird looks. I swore I’d never come back, so people will be confused by that, and you’re gonna stick out like a sore thumb.”

“Oh,” Luther knew what that meant.

“I’m sure my sister’s gonna be pissed. There might be an argument—not even `bout us, just `bout why I’m back. I didn’t leave on good terms at all…”

“Yeah, I get it… I’ll hang back and try not to push the drama if that happens.”

“That’ll be good.”

The blonde asked, “What’s your sister’s name?”

“Ruth,” Ray answered. 

“And she’s older than you by…?”

“Five years.”

“I guess she lives alone in the house?”

“No, I reckon her and Benjamin have hit it off.”

“Benjamin’s a new name.”

“Eh. He’s just a guy I’ve known since I was a kid. He… helped out a lot after my mom died. He’s great, I just didn’t… like him.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

“Those are very conflicting thoughts to be put in the same sentence.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I was just goin` through all that sh-t and—”

“I know, Ray. I’m just screwing with you,” Luther bumped up against him. 

“Right…” the gambler swallowed through the lump in his throat.

They were quiet for a bit. 

“You know,” Raymond started, “I’m gonna tell her `bout us…”

“I know.”

“You ain’t… worried?”

“Of course I’m worried. But… we don’t have any other options. And if you don’t think we should hide it from her, I’m not going to argue with you.”

“But you seem awful calm…”

“I’m trying to keep it in.”

Raymond dropped that chain of the conversation. 

He just hoped things would go smoothly, but he also knew better than that.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  


It was shortly past noon when they were able to see the multiple houses and buildings that made up the tiny town. Long-harvested farmland stretched for miles and miles around the landscape, the only break from it was a creek that snaked at the bottom of a hill and a small forest on the opposite end of the town. Most of the buildings were made of wood or brick with pointed roofs. A few had flat tops, and Ray knew those would be farmhouses, as he recognized a few. The tallest building was the church, standing high and mighty near the center of town, a large cross upon the steeple. Though he knew it probably shouldn’t have, the gambler found comfort in the church. 

As they walked into the village, gravel beneath their feet, it was a slow reaction. There were people out and about, working the day’s labor, so not many of them paid mind to the extra footsteps in their town. But soon, they started to notice the new faces. Nobody stared much, and the town didn’t fall into complete silence, but it definitely got quieter and some looks were shared amongst each other. Raymond wanted to look around and try to recognize faces, maybe say hello to any old friends, but he remembered that he never was welcome. He’d only ever watched people from a distance and didn’t bother much to interact with them. Even if he  _ did _ have the confidence to meet up with a few townsfolk, they wouldn’t want anything to do with him. He kept his head down and just followed the path to his old home.

Luther seemed to be taking it well. He didn’t appear to be out of his element—he kept his chin up and eyes forward, looking calm. Ray didn’t know how the blonde was able to keep himself steady like that.

They walked through town, approaching the center but not quite reaching it before Raymond pulled his partner to the left. They walked down a path that passed in front of a line of homes. Raymond counted the buildings, as he always used to do, until he came upon the one his mother used to own. Three steps led up to the porch that hung off the front of the house, surrounded by railings with posts that supported the overhang above. A window was positioned to the right of the door, the glass clean and maintained. Raymond took a deep breath, his chest feeling very heavy as he did so.

He gave Luther one last look before ascending the steps and approaching the door. He brought his knuckles to the wood and knocked three times, then took a step back and waited.

The blonde stood close to him, silently reassuring him.

After a few long, agonizing moments, footfall could be heard on the other side of the door. The handle turned and the barrier opened, revealing a man standing there in work pants and a heavy coat, appearing to have worked for the better half of the day. His head was shaved to the scalp and his face was clean of any scruff. Raymond recognized this man as Benjamin and the gambler wasn’t at all surprised to find him in his sister’s home. However, the working man seemed surprised to find _the_ _gambler_ at his door. 

“Hello,” Raymond greeted quietly, though politely.

“...Raymond?” the working man tightened his grip on the door, giving a frown, “What’re you doin` back?” he looked over at Luther, “Who’s this?”

“Uhm, this is Luther. He and I are…” he shared a look with the blonde, “He’s helped me out for the past… however long it’s been. Luther, this is Benjamin. I told you `bout him.” Ray cleared his throat, turning back to the working man, “Is Ruth here? We need to talk.”

Benjamin lowered his brow. “You ain’t here for trouble?”

“No, no,” Raymond assured him, “We just… really need help right now. I need to talk to Ruth, please…”

The working man drew a breath, letting it out slowly. “Stay put.” He closed the door and walked back inside.

The gambler sighed, rubbing his face with dirty hands. Luther patted him on the back. “Doing good,” the blonde said.

“Don’t feel like it…”

“It’s okay.”

“No it ain’t…”

“ _ Ray _ ,” Luther tried. 

The gambler groaned, removing his hands.

They only waited for a moment before the door opened once more, a new figure on the other side. A woman, shorter than the partners, her black hair done up atop her head and her blue dress flowing down to her ankles as she moved through the doorway. She had a strong face, quite like the gambler’s, with big, emotional eyes. Those dark eyes only had to take one look for her to recognize her brother, and she threw her arms around him. 

Raymond was very shocked at this. After their falling-out when he left home, he never expected her to react like this. Still, though, he was very appreciative and hugged her back. They held each other tightly, but only for a quick minute as the woman scattered about. She whispered to herself, trying to look at everything at once and do everything at once. She collected herself, quickly telling them both, “Come inside, come inside.”

Raymond was pulled by the arm, a bit speechless. Luther followed after them, closing the door. 

The house was similar to how the gambler remembered it. A few pieces of furniture had been moved or added, and some of the decors had changed, but most things were still the same. He recognized the placement of the rooms, the details in the walls, the way the floorboards lightly creaked when they walked across them, and the smell of the home. It was very welcoming and calming, able to ease the gambler’s nerves.

The woman pushed the gambler into one of the seats, touching his face and looking at him with a hint of panic in her gaze. “Oh my goodness…! Are you okay? You left and I didn’t know if you’d ever come back and I—”

“Ruth, Ruth, quit,” Raymond pushed her hands away and stood, holding her arms very kindly. She looked up at him, her face twisted into a painful, sad expression. “I’m okay…” he whispered, trying to smile.

She shook her head and stepped back, putting an arm over her eyes while turning away. Benjamin was standing off to the side but approached the woman when she did this, trying to console her. “Sorry,” she forced the word out, “I didn’t… I’m all shook up right now.” She turned back around, taking a breath, “Benjamin said you were at the door but I didn’t believe him…” she took another breath, “But you’re here! And I…!” She smiled. “Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Raymond assured her. He looked at his partner, “That’s my sister, Ruth. Ruth, this is Luther.”

“Hello,” she greeted, “I’m awful sorry for runnin` out like a madwoman. That wasn’t very welcomin`, I’m sure.”

“No, you’re just fine. I get it,” Luther said with a smile. 

She patted her dress down as if smoothing ruffled feathers, sighing. “Please, both of you, sit down. Can I get either of you anythin`? A drink? Some food? How far have you gone to get here?”

“No, we’re fine for now,” Raymond told her, “We just… We’re in a bit of a twist right now.” He and Luther moved to the couch, sitting side-by-side.

Ruth took a seat in a chair of her own, Benjamin standing behind her. “What’s the trouble?” she asked.

“It’s, uhm… I think it’d be best to discuss it in private.”

“It’s just Benjy and I here.”

“I know, but… just me and you, Ruth,” Raymond said.

She folded her hands over each other. “Oh…” she peeped. “Uhm, well… Can we at least catch up? It’s just… been a spell.”

Ray smiled. “...`Course.”

His sister took a breath, just gazing at the gambler. “I know it ain’t been… terribly long… but if felt that way.”

“I know. I’m still…” he threw his hands up, “...shaken up.”

“Me too.”

A moment passed as Raymond looked over at his partner. “I know we’ve already said names, but this is Luther. He’s been by my side pretty much since I left.”

The blonde grinned. “It didn’t take much convincing for me to stick by his side,” he nudged the gambler, “Just a glass of whiskey and a handshake~”

Raymond shook his head with a smile. “I was havin` trouble fittin` in. He helped me out lots.”

Ruth nodded, “That’s… real good,” there was a sadness in her tone, “I didn’t know how you’d make it, really.”

“It ain’t like I’d never stepped out of the house before I left,” Ray attempted to keep the mood light.

“I know. Just… scared me…” Her chest puffed out as she took a deep breath. “I’m glad you’re alright, though. You’re lookin` healthy, even if a lil` dirty.”

Raymond chuckled and rubbed his clammy palms over his pants, consciously taking the trimming of his cloak and pulling it over himself. He’d rather not let them see the blood that was stained on his clothes.

Benjamin asked, “Where’d you come from? You stay close to town?”

The gambler shared a look with Luther, and the blonde nodded. “No, we came from pretty far,” Ray started, “Straight from Utah.”

“Utah?” Ruth asked. “You went  _ that _ far?”

“Well, first we met up in Las Vegas. It’s a tiny town in Nevada, have you heard of it?”

“ _ Nevada? _ ” his sister echoed. 

“Las Vegas?” Benjamin seemed more concerned about that, “Ruth, wasn’t that was the town that got hit by those arsonists?”

Ruth gave a small gasp. “You’re right. You two didn’t run into them, did you?”

“Arsonists?” Luther asked.

“Yeah. Some crazies hid out in Las Vegas and terrorized this group of men. Said they stole from them and attacked them,” the working man explained, “Lemme see if we still got the paper.” He walked off.

Ruth kept going. “Surely you would’ve heard `bout it if you were anywhere close?”

Raymond had this obscure feeling in the pit of his gut. “We… might’ve… heard `bout it.”

“Oh, it’s just awful. Paper said they also killed an old woman in her own home! Left the oven on and tried to burn the place down. Can you believe that?”

_ Oh no… _ Ray’s gut flipped upon those words and he felt his throat close up. There’s… No… No, there’s no chance that the newspaper was talking about…  _ them? _ He shouldn’t have been surprised, but the image of Nana Clark, lying there in the oven, burning away… it flashed in his mind and wouldn’t go away.

“That’s absolutely insane…” Luther voiced, knowing Raymond wouldn’t. The gambler looked the blonde in the face, seeing a calm demeanor but was able to read a level of concern in his blue eyes. Luther knew. “What else did they do? What happened?”

About then, Benjamin returned from the kitchen with the news in his hand. He paraphrased as he read. “They tried to shoot the group of men, killed an old woman, tried to burn her house down, destroyed some of the local park, and killed one person from the group.”

Raymond felt sick.

Luther asked slowly, “What happened to them? They get arrested?”

“They fled town before they could get caught. The group of guys are tryna hunt them down and apprehend them, I hear,” Benjamin said, handing the paper over to the partners. “People are sayin` they went for a little town in Utah. I think it was… Springstown?”

“Springdale,” Ruth corrected, “Rumor has it that they burned a whole house up in the mountains. Killed another person from the group that’s tryna bring them justice.” 

“And the lady who lived there. But people have been whisperin` `bout demons. They say those crazies are satanists.”

“If any of it’s true we’ll hear `bout it in the next paper, I reckon,” Ruth nodded, “But you boys said you didn’t hear nothin` `bout it? Neither of you ran into those madmen?”

Raymond was clutching the newspaper with such strength he could feel little tears where his fingernails dug into the sheets. He was staring down at the words, biting his tongue as he read exactly what Ruth and Benjamin had told them about. He couldn’t speak, he couldn’t move, he could hardly breathe at this point. They were hearing their own mischaracterized life being said back to them, and neither his sister nor her lover even knew it was Raymond and Luther who were the arsonists—the crazies—the satanists. This was all… so wrong. 

“Uhm…” Luther cleared his throat, ignoring the questions with one of his own, “Anyone catch what these madmen looked like?”

“Yeah,” Ruth said, “I believe it was a black man in some fancy brown suit and a white man in black and white working clothes. But they don’t got any pictures of them in the paper…” She was frowning, noticing the obvious tension in the air. “...Is somethin` wrong?”

The blonde looked at his partner, biting his lip. The gambler peered up, pain in his face. He opened his lips to speak but all that came out was a pitiful sigh as he lowered his head again. Luther went on. “Well, uhm… I guess we should… say what we’ve been doing since we met…

“I actually met Raymond on some… tricky circumstances. We…” he shook his head, “How the hell do I put this nicely?”

The gambler lifted his head and straightened his posture. He folded the newspaper over and gave it to Luther, swallowing through the lump in his throat. “There ain’t a nice way to put it. We’re bein` hunted.”

The couple across from him hardened their faces into an uneasy expression. 

Raymond knew there wouldn’t be a good way to twist the story around. So, he dove right in. “I ran into this group of guys in Las Vegas. We played a game of poker, afterward they were going to try to take me outside and shoot me so they could rob me.”

Ruth tried speaking, “What?—”

“Luther was eavesdroppin`, he knew their plan, I didn’t. He kept me at his side and kept me away from those men—if it weren’t for him I’d be in the ground right now.”

His sister asked, “Why would anyone go after you?”

“Greedy racists,” Luther said, “It’s petty, but it motivates those bastards.”

“So, what then?” Benjamin asked, wanting more.

Ray continued, finding strength. “We were stayin` at a rent house, an old lady owned it—Margaret Clark. Harris and his team—the group of guys from earlier—they kept tryna come after us. Eventually, they found out where we were livin` and things got… real bad. 

“Luther and I were out in the town and we came back to find Clark… dead,” he was staring at the floor, not daring to meet any eyes, “She must have been… beat to death… or burned, I don’t know. Clark was just… in… the oven.” He took a deep breath, letting the silence crush him. “We didn’t know what to do. We couldn’t have been there for more than two minutes before Harris and his boys burst in and tried to get rid of us too.

“We just… ran. We got rid of one of the group members, but… we… I don’t… know…” he couldn’t believe he was leaving out so many details of the story, but his heart was already being crushed by the words he was already saying. Anything else may have been the end of him.

Raymond wasn’t talking anymore. His lips were parted but his teeth were practically glued together and his jaw was locked in place. He couldn’t calm himself.

Luther put a hand on Ray’s leg, but even his fingers were tapping away. The blonde continued for him. “We met up with a friend of mine in Utah. Close to Springdale… Harris found us. He just… attacked on spot. My friend fell off the side of the mountain, we managed to get away. We both got shot, Ray was knocked out, one of the other guys must have died and the base was burned. We didn’t do  _ anything _ to those people. We just—”

“Luther,” Ray stopped him, “It don’t matter.”

There was a painfully long moment of silence afterward. It twisted through the air like an animal that had just been shot, writhing to get away from the pain, but there was no escaping the weight of the situation. Though indirect, Raymond was sure that they just spilled their entire lives onto his sister—his sister that knew about what happened to the gambler long before he ever came back.

Raymond dared to look her in the face, if only for a moment. What he saw was… strange. Ruth didn’t look angry or appalled or even surprised. She was  _ smiling _ . But… it was so fake. It was so forced. It looked like it hurt.

Benjamin had grabbed her arm and was slowly pulling her out of her chair, careful and cautious. His face read concern, shock, and worry. “I think it’s `bout time you two left,” he told the partners.

Ray stood, “Please, I just need to talk to her.”

The working man lowered his brow. “I don’t—”

“Raymond,” Ruth moved away from Benjamin and to her brother. She took both of his hands, holding them tightly. “Raymond, I  _ know _ they weren’t talking about you in the paper. Tell me it isn’t true.”

The gambler met her emotional eyes with his own, not knowing what to say.

“Raymond,  _ tell me _ you’re lyin`…” 

This was a moment of silent, unmoving panic. Raymond could have very well backed up right then. He could have said that he was lying and he didn’t mean a word of what he spoke. He could have said that it was just some elaborate gimmick to make her feel sorry for them. He could just trick her and make that secret base in one of the unused buildings in town, hiding from everyone who lived here. Then, he and Luther could continue with their endeavor; gaining more power, talking with their patron, serving a being higher than themselves.

But then what? What would happen if they were caught? What would happen if Harris found them? 

It wasn’t a risk Raymond was going to take. 

“Please, Ruth… Let’s talk…” he begged her.

She lost her painful smile, replacing it with a torturous frown. She didn’t look at him, and he was left to stare at the top of her head. Ruth’s hands clutched Ray’s aggressively, her nails pressing into his skin and leaving little indents. She didn’t take a moment to process the request, or even a breath to calm herself, she just held onto her brother and pulled him through the room.

The other two men were left alone as the siblings walked to the stairs, tucked behind a wall and leading up. With every step, Raymond recalled the layout. He counted the stairs, knowing the seventh would creak, and then the ninth. They did exactly as he knew they would, but knowing this gave him no comfort. Familiarity was something he was beginning to fear, as it brought back all sorts of emotions and memories. These memories were good, these emotions were nostalgic, but knowing that he was going to destroy that comfort is what made him hate the feelings. There was nothing that was going to save them. There was nothing that was going to save  _ him _ . 

Ruth led her brother to a nearly-empty room. There were no decorations, no rugs, no shelves, not even curtains on the window. The only things that occupied the space were a dresser and a bed with a single sheet and a single pillow. Ray knew that this place used to be his room, but it was hardly recognizable. She must have thrown everything out when he left. 

She removed her hands from his own, closing the door and sighing sharply. She didn’t face him before she spoke. “Raymond. I’m gonna ask you somethin`, and when I turn `round I want you to tell me the answer,” a pause, “Is it all true? The reports, the rumors; is it all true?” She turned around.

Raymond opened his mouth but nothing was answered. “...I… I can’t answer tha—”

“Just  _ answer  _ me…” she demanded.

He felt a heated shock run through his body, starting in his heart and radiating across his skin. He bit his tongue and held his own arms beneath the cloak. Quietly, he squeaked, “...I s’pose…” he shook his head, “But not all of it’s completely true—”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” she suddenly snapped. 

“Wh—Because we didn’t kill no innocent people…!” 

“Why should I believe that?”

“I’m your brother—!”

“You’re my brother, sure! But you never did care `bout no one. You didn’t care `bout me or Mama or—”

“ _ Ruth! _ ” Raymond saw how fast this was escalating and didn’t know how to handle it. “I didn’t do—”

“You said all those rumors were true!” she was beginning to pace, “Everyone’s heard `bout this! I was invested in the crimes! But you’re tellin` me that it was  _ you _ all along?”

“Would you just let me  _ talk? _ ” he snapped, throwing his hands down.

His sister stood there, arms crossed and chin high as she side-eyed him. She was silent, her piercing eyes stabbing straight through him. 

Raymond huffed, his fingers trembling and his mind spinning. He wanted to talk but was afraid of what he’d say. He knew what to say but worried that he’d get cut off again. There was no point in being bothered over it, he’d just have to try. “Listen… most of those things you read are true to an extent… but a lot of it is lies.”

“To  _ what _ extent?”

“To the extent that we were defendin` ourselves!”

“By killin`  _ four people? _ ”

“For the love of God, Ruth,  _ listen to me! _ ” Ray yelled, replacing his sadness with frustration. “We didn’t want anyone to get hurt! We didn’t kill those women!  _ We’ve _ been hunted and hurt and nearly killed!”

She shook her head. “Show me, then.”

“What?”

“If you’ve really been hunted, show me where you’re hurt.”

Raymond stared through her, realizing his predicament. He knew he’d been cut up and shot and all the works, but all the wounds had been closed. All that was left to show was the blood on his clothes, blood that had dried and looked like mud. There was no point in trying, but he did so anyway.

The gambler unbuttoned his cloak and pulled it off, showing her the tear of his clothes on his back. “I can’t show you no marks, but the evidence is there!”

“You cut up your shirt? So what?”

“No!” he turned back around, looking down at his foot that had nearly been shot off, “The shot ain’t there anymore, but it was! I was shot, Ruth!” His voice sounded more desperate with each word. “Please, you gotta believe me! We didn’t do nothin` wrong!”

She flashed her fiery eyes at him, “You’re tellin` me nothin` but lies!”

“I’m not!”

“Even if you  _ were  _ hurt, why would anyone be after you if you did ‘nothin` wrong’?”

“Because we—!” he quickly stopped himself, not wanting to give away the truth so harshly and suddenly.

“Why, Ray? Because they’re racists? Then why the hell are they after your buddy, too?! I saw it in the paper, those are white men after you! They wouldn’t go after him for the same reason!” she began to step closer.

“I just—I don’t—”

“ _ Why _ , Ray?”

“Jesus Christ,  _ please  _ just  _ listen! _ Shut up and  _ listen for the love of God! _ ” Ray swore, wanting to grab his sister and shake her. He was rightfully pissed off—an old, familiar feeling he usually experienced when he used to live here. She looked just as angry.

The room was silent again. It wouldn’t be like that for long. 

Raymond took a breath. “Look. I’m bein` brutally honest `bout  _ everythin` _ . You’re just not wantin` to see my side of the story.”

He expected a retort but got none.

So, he continued, “...Those men are evil. They tried to kill me before they even knew me. Luther saved my life,” he quieted his tone, but didn’t make it any softer, “I owed him. He gave me so many opportunities to help me out—to protect myself. So before I say it, you’d best know that  _ I _ and  _ I alone _ chose to do this.”

“ _ What _ ,” she barked.

Raymond puffed his chest out. He told her, “If there’s one rumor that’s entirely true, it’s this…” he didn’t care anymore, “We’re satanists.”

Ruth’s dark eyes stared deep into her brother, but her expression was unchanging. 

The gambler waited. “I’m a satanist,” he repeated, wondering why his blood wasn’t reacting.

His blood responded, “I heard you,” she mumbled quietly, “I… don’t believe you…”

Raymond frowned, clenching his teeth. “You don’t believe anythin` I say.”

“Because you’re—”

“You didn’t believe me when I said I was sorry `bout Jackson. You didn’t believe me when I said Mama made me uncomfortable. You didn’t believe me when I said I loved her. You didn’t even believe me when I said I’d leave,” he threw his arms out to his sides, “Well look at this, Ruth! I ran! I ran and I left you! Because you never believed me! Are you happy now?”

“No! I’m not!” she snapped back. 

“Well, you should be! This is what happens when you get your way, Ruth! Everythin` goes to sh-t!” he shouted, “And now I’m back because I need help. Because every  _ damn _ time I do somethin` wrong I just remember you! And I think, ‘She’d probably know what to do!’ But  _ no!  _ You just scream and make things worse!” he grabbed his hair, “Please, for the love of God, just help me out! I need help!”

She kept her chin up and her arms folded. She squinted her eyes to a slim cut, hardly the figure Raymond found comfort in. “You need a priest, that’s what.”

So much anger swelled up in the gambler’s skull he thought his head would pop. With a scowl he said, “So, you’re not even gonna try to understand?”

She looked away. 

“You’re just gonna leave me to die?”

Ruth dipped her head down, staring at the wall. “Maybe it would be better that way.”

Ray’s eyes grew wide and his jaw clenched up. Those words pierced through his heart and made it cease to beat. His blood ran cold and he felt weightless. When he came back-to, his heart thumped as if it had burst, his blood was scalding in his veins, and his feet hit the ground so hard it felt like an earthquake. The weight piled onto him, growing heavier and heavier, crushing him until he couldn’t breathe. 

His sister just wished he were dead. Just like Harris did. Just like a million others, he was sure. Raymond was in the paper, his story being painted as the enemy’s. Nobody knew the truth. Nobody knew who he really was. He didn’t even seem to know who he really was at this point. He forgot about Luther, he forgot about his mother, he forgot about himself. If everyone wanted him gone, why should he argue with that? Why should he even try anymore? 

He certainly wouldn’t try with the one standing in front of him.

The gambler curled his fingers into fists, knowing he’d get no help from someone who wanted him dead. He spat, “Fine,” as he stepped to the door, “I’ll get to it then,” he plastered a fake smile onto his face as he opened the barrier, “Maybe I’ll make you proud this time!” He slammed the door as hard as he could, shaking the wall it was attached to. 

His anger masked the tears that wanted to emerge from his eyes. He didn’t let a slip of weakness soak through, though. Not here.

He approached the steps and stomped down, wanting to flee from everything he was leaving behind. His sister’s lover was at the bottom, looking concerned. He may have even said something to the gambler, but Raymond wasn’t listening. He pushed past the working man and made his way through the house.

The blonde wasn’t where he left him. But, even then, he hadn’t processed that thought. His mind was just screaming at him to get out of the house; to get out of town; to just  _ leave _ . 

Raymond opened the front door and shut it behind him, finding Luther on the porch next to the frame. Blue eyes looked up at the gambler and said nothing, seeming to already know.

“C’mon,” the gambler ordered, “We’re leavin`.” Without looking back, he jumped down the steps and quickly set off down the line of houses, not listening for questions or anything of the sort. Thankfully for him, though, Luther wasn’t talking. 

Nothing seemed to be familiar anymore. He wasn’t recognizing buildings on his way by, he wasn’t recognizing faces, he wasn’t recognizing anything. He hardly recognized his own consciousness, yelling, screaming,  _ get away from this place _ .

But there was one thing that was familiar. He’d sped to the outskirts of town, eyes forward and looking only at the horizon in blind frustration. He could hear Luther’s footsteps behind him, trying to stay with him. Just before they were out of the territory, there was a pleading voice crying out to him. “Raymond! Raymond, wait!” he heard.

It was his sister’s voice. He didn’t let himself turn around. He just kept walking. 

“Stop! Please!” her voice got closer, and then her hands hit his back, latching onto his clothes. He whipped around, trying to pull himself away before she could stop him. And yet, he stopped himself.

Tears were rolling down his sister’s face, seeping through his anger and strapping to his heart, making his defenses fall within an instant. Her hands latched onto his arms, trying to pull him closer. “Raymond, I didn’t mean it,” Ruth tried, “Please, come back. We can work something out. We can talk!”

With those words, the gambler dug up his ire once more. Was his sister really that thick in the skull? Was she really trying to mend wounds,  _ now? _ He ripped his arms away from her, showing his teeth as he growled back at her. “I  _ tried _ to do that. I gave you a  _ f-ckin` chance _ ,” he hissed, “And you didn’t give me one. So you know what?” he looked her right in the eyes, his emotional eyes glowing with a flame so scorching it could have burned steel, “If I die, it’s on  _ your _ hands.”

Ruth had the same look that the gambler had not long ago. It was the same look of heavy defeat, waiting for you to take it all in before it landed on you like a train. And though Raymond was angry, he didn’t want to see her hurt like that. He turned around and rushed away, proceeding to exit town and forget everything he once knew.


	24. Sail Across the Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revelation 21:8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !Trigger Warning!  
> !Death Warning!
> 
> Posting a day early so I don’t interfere with anyone’s holiday.

It was near dark by the time they made it back to Shreveport. Raymond’s feet felt like they would fall off if he didn’t take a break, but he still felt far too close to his hometown to stop. He wanted to keep going, far away from this place, far away from anything he may have known before. 

Luther tried to talk to the gambler on the way back to the city, but Ray wasn’t responding in any way. He was purposely shoving the specifics of the bad thoughts to the back of his mind, only left with a cloudy aura of misfortune floating in his head. He didn’t want to think about the sequence of events that had played out that day, let alone discuss the details of them. 

And yet, here in the city, he knew he’d have to. There was too much to  _ not _ talk about. But he just kept walking, not knowing what he was doing or where he was going. He was passing buildings and people, not checking behind him to see if Luther was even there anymore, not looking forward to see what was ahead. He kept his eyes down and strode along the walkway. 

A firm hand suddenly grasped his arm, pulling on him and making him stop in his tracks. Raymond felt his adrenaline immediately kick in, fearful of seeing someone like his sister or his chaser grabbing him. But, when he looked up he saw blonde curls and blue eyes that appeared to be silver in the sunsetting light. His partner’s frown was clear as day, and his brow was lowered to show extreme fatigue and concern. Luther said nothing and loosened his grip on Raymond’s arm, letting his hand slide down to the gambler’s palm as he grasped it. 

Ray was carefully pulled in the other direction, slowly and quietly. They walked by building after building, neither partner fighting the other as they traveled. The gambler shut his mind off, not thinking about the situation at all, and it made the next few actions seem much faster.

He wasn’t sure how long it took as his mind blurred his sense of time and vision, but he knew that Luther had found a hotel of sorts and rented a room for them. Raymond had no appetite and didn’t bother suggesting to get a meal. They went to their room, Luther shut the door and locked it, waved his hand to light the candles, and approached the gambler. Pale hands unclipped Ray’s cloak and pulled it off, setting it on the plain bed next to them. The blonde touched the gambler’s face, then brought his hand down to the man’s shoulder. “...How about you clean up and we can talk afterward…” he suggested.

Raymond didn’t agree or disagree, he simply just didn’t respond. However, he did do what Luther suggested and trudged off to the washroom.

After bathing and refreshing himself, he dressed back in his old clothes—the only ones he had—though, minimally. He didn’t bother with socks or shoes or even trousers. He only threw on his shirt and undergarments, not wanting to feel the itch of dried blood that had hardened the cloth. The gambler walked out and Luther took his place in the washroom. Raymond approached the bed, seeing both firearms on the floor near the wall and the money they’d collected on the bedside table. He’d honestly forgotten about their belongings—the blonde had them this entire time—but he paid them little mind and sat on the bed, staring at a wall. 

After a bit, Luther came out, dressed nearly the same. He took a seat on the bed next to Raymond, waiting for something. Ray was waiting, too. 

Sitting in silence was a crushing feeling to the gambler. He sighed heavily, putting his face in his hands. “...I dunno what to do anymore, Luther…”

The blonde didn’t respond immediately. He was still and quiet. 

After a moment, Ray sat back up, removing his hands and shaking his head. “...Any ideas…?”

The blonde slowly shook his head. “I’m… lost…”

The gambler peered over at the firearms. They sat there, still loaded, hardly used. 

Luther said, “We’ll think of something… We should still have plenty of time… maybe…” he sighed, “But, I think you have something on your mind… don’t you?”

Raymond clasped his hands together and squeezed, biting the inside of his cheek at the same time. “...I do… but…” he sighed, “Do I gotta talk `bout it…?”

“It’s your decision…”

Ray pushed his hands into the bed at his sides, then let the breath escape his lungs as he laid on his back. Staring up at the ceiling was the only thing to do.

Soon enough, the blonde did the same. He went down on his side and laid with the gambler, bright blue eyes gazing at his partner’s face.

Without looking at Luther, Raymond spoke. “I don’t know what all you heard…”

“...I walked out after you went upstairs. I heard yelling, though. It didn’t sound good.”

“It wasn’t,” he admitted, “I tried tellin` her `bout us. How we’re satanists and we’re bein` hunted and all that… But she didn’t believe me. Or she didn’t wanna believe me? I dunno…” a pause, “It was like that before I left, too. I would say somethin` and she would go after me, and then I’d get mad and she’d get mad and it was a big train wreck of emotions. Nothin` ever got solved. 

“But when we first got there, you know, she hugged me. I didn’t… In a million years I never thought that would happen. I just thought things were good but they weren’t and that’s what’s gettin` me…” he sighed, “And… what I said. What she said, too.”

Luther asked, “...What’d she say?”

“She said I’d be better off dead,” he shook his head out of frustration, “And it’s f-ckin` awful, but was what I said to her  _ worse? _ `Bout my death bein` on her hands?”

The blonde put a hand on Ray’s arm. “I don’t think there’s anything good about what she said. You had every right to talk back to her.”

“But I don’t think she meant it! `Cause that’s just how she’s been. And that’s how I’ve been and how everyone’s been. We just get mad and don’t mean sh-t, but we say it and then everythin` falls apart…” he brought his hands to his face, hiding his expression beneath them. “...I know I didn’t mean what I said… I don’t want her to feel like any of it is her fault. She’s still my sister, I still love her. She’s the only thing I got left in my family…”

There was silence. They laid there, hardly breathing, hardly moving. Luther spoke softly, “...I can’t relate…” 

Raymond let his eyes fall closed. “I know.”

Quiet, again.

“And it isn’t your fault that you can’t relate…” Ray added. “It’s just… frustratin`... I’m sure you get frustrated with me sometimes when I can’t add anythin` to the conversation `bout… your family…”

No response.

The gambler opened his eyes. “Let’s just go to bed. I’m tired as hell…”

Without any words shared, they sat up and cozied themselves under the blankets. Damp hair met cold pillows as nightfall darkened the room around them. Minutes passed, and they slept apart. 

After a while, Luther’s voice could be heard just next to Raymond’s. “...I think if you know that you didn’t mean what you said, your sister will know, too…” his voice was calm, smooth, and clear, “But if she doesn’t, then that’s just something that you’ll have to get through. If you can change things for the better, go do it. But you have to remember to worry about yourself, first.”

Raymond turned his head to look at him, saying nothing.

“...It’s not selfish to take care of yourself and reassure yourself.”

The gambler nodded. “I know…”

“And I’m gonna be right here to help you.”

“I know…”

The rest of the night was quiet.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Luther was the first to wake up again, as usual. He woke Raymond and hopped out of bed, appearing to be focused as he moved about the room.

The gambler sat up in bed, looking around him. Rays of sun shone through the windows, making the room bright and indicating a late morning. He asked in a groggy voice, “What’s the rush?” upon noticing his partner.

“I have a bit of a plan. Not much of one, but I think it’ll turn out if we work hard enough.” He was already dressed and threw the shotgun over his shoulder, letting it hang on his back from the strap. 

Raymond climbed out of bed, throwing his arms over his head as he stretched. “What’s the plan?”

“I think we should do what you suggested before. Just make up a camp out in the middle of nowhere where we won’t be found.” Luther took his cloak and threw it over himself, fastening it at the collar. 

“Didn’t you say that would take too long?” Ray rubbed his eyes.

“It probably will, but we don’t have any other options. We’ve got nowhere to go, we can’t stay in a city because this situation is spreading too fast, and knowing other people could put them in danger,” she shrugged, collecting the money and trying to neatly fold it and store the bills and coins in his pockets. “If we’re lucky, Beata will care enough to show up when we summon her. If not, we can try to find another patron, I suppose, and work our way up from there.” 

Raymond… surprisingly didn’t see too much fault in that idea. The gambler himself didn’t have any grand revelations and it was obvious that their choices were slim. “Okay… Where’re we headed?” he asked, picking up his clothes and covering himself.

“We’re going to grab something to eat for breakfast and something for the road. I think we should take the train back the way we came, maybe not going clear back but far enough away from most of the action of cities and towns,” Luther explained while Raymond collected his things, “I think we should stick by the mountains. Travel north a ways, get somewhere not too hot and not too cold. Before we go out to the middle of nowhere we should get supplies like axes and whatever to build a little hut.”

Raymond was grinning, actually liking the idea. He was imagining a small cabin tucked away in the base of the mountains, just him and Luther against the world. “What `bout food? We gonna go to town to get stuff every week?”

“Maybe for a bit? But we can definitely figure out how to farm, right? You know how to do that?”

“Eh, not exactly? But I’m sure we can learn.”

“Yeah! And once we get our patron back, or get a different one, they can help out with food lots. And we can hunt and just live however we want to.” The blonde was standing in front of Raymond, smiling just the same.

“That sounds… good,” the gambler said optimistically, “I mean, the most we’ll have to worry about is losing our powers. But we’ll still have those for a while more, right?”

“Yeah, we’ve got them for at least another couple of weeks. Making a nice base for a patron will be the hardest part and take the longest. But once that’s out of the way, we won’t have to worry about it.” Luther was practically chest-to-chest with Raymond, now, his hands on the gambler’s arms. “If that sounds good to you?”

Ray took a breath, excited about the new chapter to come but still shaken up from his past experiences—especially from the events of yesterday. But good news made his chin lift a bit. His chin would have had to raise slightly, anyway, to plant a kiss on his partner’s cheek. “Sounds great,” he told the blonde.

Luther gave Raymond a quick hug and a kiss of his own before parting and continuing on. “Good,” he commented, handing Ray his firearm and his cloak, “Let’s head out, then.”

The gambler nodded and fastened the holster that encased the handgun on his belt, then threw his cloak on and followed Luther to the door. They slipped their shoes on and headed out. 

The two of them exited the tiny hotel and headed for the markets. It was midmorning, the sun shining through a cloudless day, trying to warm up the frozen earth but with little success. They stopped in a small store and grabbed some food for the morning, ate on the benches, then returned for some more for their trip. 

An hour at most passed before they bought their ticket and waited for the next train. They made themselves comfy at the back of the crowd near the building of the station. It wouldn’t be long before the top of the hour hit and the train would come rolling by. 

“I sorta wish we woke up sooner,” Luther commented, “Train’s gonna be hella busy.”

“I sorta wish we just took a horse,” Ray joked, “Train’s always hella busy.”

“Don’t like the train?”

“Not after a while. The smell and movement gets me sick.”

The blonde smirked, “Big baby,” he teased with a nudge.

“Oh please, like you  _ don’t _ smell all the sweat on people?” Raymond nudged him back.

They poked fun at each other until they could hear the whistle from outside the city. The two quickly made their way to the front of the crowd, only behind a few people. By that time they could feel the ground tremble beneath them as the heavy automotive rolled up to the station and came to a hearty stop.

The doors opened, and people poured out. A few shoved their way through the existing crowd, dispersing some, but Raymond and Luther were able to stick together. The gambler didn’t pay much attention to the faces that passed by. 

Until he had to. There was one face in particular that stood out to him, and he had to look twice to ensure he wasn’t seeing things. How he wished his vision really had faltered. 

It was  _ him _ . This time, Raymond didn’t freeze. He saw the face of their hunter and snatched Luther’s hand, stepping backward and colliding with someone just behind him. 

Harris had seen the gambler long ago. 

“Luther,” Raymond gasped.

Everything happened within the blink of an eye but it felt like an eternity. Harris and the lumberjack—his only companion left—had exited the train and spotted the partners immediately. Raymond had grabbed Luther’s hand as Harris’ own hand moved to his belt, probably in search of a weapon. 

Raymond waited for no one and turned around, dashing while dragging Luther with him. He didn’t know if the blonde had even seen Harris—or if he himself had even seen Harris—no, he had to have! He was sure of it! That was their chaser, their hunter, their downfall. The gambler had too many close calls with that man, and he finally learned to run immediately. 

He could hear behind him, “ _ Stop them! They’re satanists! Stop them!! _ ” Raymond didn’t look, he just tugged Luther’s arm and sprinted as fast as he could. Fear took over, terrified of the encounter, fearful for his own life. With every sharp gasp Ray swore, not believing what he was hearing or what he had seen. 

And then, a gunshot. It came from behind, and the gambler felt no impact. But a bullet had still been fired by one of the two behind him! Were they crazy? There were other people around! Screams emitted once the first shot took off, and the crowds spread apart. 

Luther took the lead, letting go of his partner and guiding the path while constantly looking behind him to make sure Ray was still on his tail. Raymond never reeled in his steps, keeping up with the blonde. His panic clouded everything around him and he focused only on running. 

Another shot rang through the air, scaring the hell out of both of them. Ray knew the building just next to him had been hit, the bricks cracking and tiny debris flying off of the wall as the bullet whizzed over the surface. Luther’s hands came to the back of his head, most likely feeling the debris spray him and panicking that he’d been shot. His emotions seamlessly shifted and he turned his body to the building—a small tobacco shop—and threw himself through the doors. Raymond followed blindly, not questioning the blonde. 

The shop wasn’t terribly busy, harboring a few customers that may have been getting their share before they hopped on the train. The strangers were already looking curious from hearing the shots outside, and when the two satanists came sprinting in it wasn’t any better. Luther shoved a man out of the way to get to a flight of stairs at the back of the store, the owner of the shop yelling at the two men as they raced upstairs. Right then, Harris and the lumberjack burst through the door, screaming, “ _ Satanists! _ ” as one of them fired. 

Raymond felt an impact hit his leg, but it wasn’t a bullet. At least, not a full one. The shot landed in one of the railings, ruining the structure, and a piece of wood or a fragment of the bullet must have smacked into his calf. It felt like a sting from a bee, sharp and small. It didn’t stop him from running up. 

They made it to the top, Luther hardly taking even a second to throw his cloak off and pull the shotgun from his back, all while moving. The upstairs appeared to be more homey than downstairs, though it was hard to tell with everything racing by Raymond’s eyes. 

They were in a short hall with two doors on either side, spread far apart. Luther raced down to the end, stepping aside for the gambler to enter while he attempted to keep their pursuers at bay. With a large wave of his arm, a huge black cloud barreled down the hallway to the stairs. Raymond heard many thuds and howls as people must have been knocked down the flight. Luther met up with the gambler in the room.

The small area must have simply been for storage with antique light fixtures, small statues and effigies, paintings, toys, and anything else someone might use to decorate a shop with. The shelves lined both walls, nailed to the floor. A window was positioned at the opposite end of the room, and in a flurry of panic, Raymond raced to find an escape. 

The closed window provided nothing more than a steep drop to the ground between this building and the next. Jumping would hurt them more than help them, surely. But where could they escape? They were cornered like rats. 

Luther had his back against the wall shotgun ready in hand as he listened for the chasers. One glance at Raymond made the gambler’s hands fly to his belt and retrieve his gun, though his fingers were shaking and he was fumbling with the firearm. 

Stomping feet could be heard coming down the hall. Luther yelled at Raymond, “Stay behind me!” as his back left the wall and he aimed his gun. Shots instantaneously went off, with Luther firing one of his only two shots, but getting hit in the process. Raymond saw his partner’s arm jolt back as a bullet was lodged into his bicep, and he stepped back. 

The gambler, trembling now, raised his arms to aim at the doorway but was hardly daring to put his finger close to the trigger. He watched as Luther tried to use his inaccurate ice to attack the lumberjack and a policeman that had run into the room, but the ice did little except to derail the officer’s path. The lumberjack had his eyes on the blonde, close enough to punch him and doing so. Luther was too late to dodge out of the way as a fist landed on his cheek, making him prone for half a second. He was nearly shot again before he reacted with a mass of black clouds that thwarted the lumberjack off his feet and into the officer.

Raymond knew he  _ had _ to do something. His friend was too close to death—it could strike him at any minute! An idea filled his head, an idea he at first swore to never try, but his fear and rage changed his mind. 

The lumberjack was quick to spring back up, aiming for the blonde with his handgun. The gambler knew if he summoned the hands it may scare them off and they could have more time to try to get away. But he  _ had _ to make sure that the scare would work. He summoned the grabbers, and they emerged from the body of the burly lumberjack in front of him.

The affected man screamed like he never had before. Hands of all kinds ripped through his flesh in a bloody, gruesome mess. Arms ripped through the muscle, claws had tissue stuck to them as they emerged, fingers broke just to get out of the skull. The lumberjack’s back hit the corner of the door frame as he stumbled back and his voice rang louder than the gunshots, echoing through the building and seemingly through the world. Raymond had never witnessed a human in such pain before, such self-aware, grueling pain as these demon appendages toppled his digestive system, ripped his spinal cord, and leaked brain fluids. 

The officer saw this and his eyes went wide. His face turned pale as he tried to flee, but tripped up and landed right in the grasp of one of the grabbers. The policeman’s clothes and skin were raked into as he tried to escape, his hair being tugged and yanked out in clumps as the hands desperately tried to keep him. He managed to slip free, though, and fled down the hall. 

The lumberjack was still screaming in total agony. Raymond hated his voice. He hated that man. He removed the grabbers, the arms and hands shooting back into the body, repairing all the damage they caused. However, blood still stained his clothes and skin and it took a moment longer for him to shut up entirely. The large man slid to the ground, his eyes staring at everything and nothing, the event severely traumatizing him. 

Luther gestured for Raymond to follow, and the gambler did so. The blonde was attempting to get out of the room, making the motion to step over the lumberjack who was semi-blocking the doorway. The man looked harmless…

...but he definitely wasn’t. In one quick motion, the lumberjack rose his hand with the gun, going to aim for Luther with a surely-lethal shot to the stomach.

Raymond wasn’t going to let that happen. 

Faster than the large man, the gambler aimed his gun without thought and pulled the trigger. The bullet fired perfectly, piercing through the lumberjack’s neck and exiting out the other side. The chaser gasped and dropped his weapon, clawing at his throat and attempting to move but parts of his body were spasming. When he tried to breathe it sounded like liquid had formed within his throat and he was slowly drowning. Hot, red fluid poured out of the bullet wound like a faucet, drenching the man’s shirt. His eyes quickly became bloodshot and rounded themselves upward, as if searching for God. He clutched his throat with his only properly-functioning hand in one last attempt to save himself, but it was too late.

The lumberjack ceased to move. 

Raymond just stared at him.

Luther only seemed to have been slightly surprised by the lumberjack’s attempted killing, then slightly relieved at Ray’s successful one. He hopped over the corpse’s body and shouted, “Let’s go!” to his partner. 

But his partner wasn’t coming. 

The blonde was quick to notice, only taking a step and a half down the hall before peeking back in the room to find a frozen man. 

The gambler was clutching the gun with both hands, the whites of his knuckles showing as he did so. His feet felt like they were nailed to the floor, his back muscles were locked up tight, his arms were weak and his hands were shaking so violently it looked like a seizure. His lips did not quiver, but his teeth were grinding against each other, surely to become fine dust with time. His dark, emotional eyes were filled with the horror of what he’d just done. 

Luther looked from the gambler, to the lumberjack, and back to the gambler. He jumped through the doorway once more, throwing his gun to the ground as he leapt to his partner. “Raymond!” He grabbed the gambler’s arms, pulling his hands apart, “Raymond, look at me!” 

The gambler blinked a few times, feeling his blood turn icy cold and his brain throbbing like his heart. His eyes scanned all over Luther’s face as he shook his head and muttered, “No, nonono…”

Pale hands cupped their partner's face. “Raymond, please—”

He wasn’t shaking his head so much as he was just  _ letting _ it shake. “No no no… No…”

“ _ Raymond! _ ”

“ _ F-ck!! _ ” he felt his eyes flood, “F-ck!  _ Sh-t! _ ”

Luther turned around and clawed his hands through the air as if he was pulling something. Large shafts of black ice emerged from the floor, pushing as close together as they could as to block the door off from anyone outside. They moved the body to the hallway and obscured all vision from it. When he turned back around a fine line of sweat had formed on his forehead, but he paid no mind to it.

“What did I do… Oh god… He’s dead…” Raymond blinked multiple times, trying to do…  _ something! _ He didn’t know! 

“Nonono! Ray, look at me!” the blonde returned his hands to the gambler’s face, trying to fix his skull in the right direction. “You’re fine! Please, you’re fine!” he desperately pleaded. 

Raymond shook his head, his right hand wielding the gun, his left hand clutching the air for anything. He felt extremely light-headed, his breathing was out-of-whack, he felt like he could throw up. 

Luther suddenly threw his arms around his partner, holding him tightly and closely. “Shh, sh. Raymond, you’re okay. It’s gonna be okay, please…” he begged.

Raymond could hardly hear him. His chin was on the blonde’s shoulder, his body pressed against his partner, his arms wrapping themselves around the man in a mindless state. A mindless state… He’d shot the lumberjack in a mindless state.  _ Oh god… Oh f-ck… _

He could see his entire life flashing before him. He could feel every itch on his skin. He could wince at every wound he’d ever received. He felt hot at every touch Luther had ever given him. He felt guilty about everything he’d ever done in his life. 

His whole life… His whole life, death surrounded him, didn’t it? First with that kid that he’d thrown into the creek. Then with the sick woman who he was created by. His own damn ego. His own self was being hunted. The bird. The dog. The old woman who had a love for cooking. That young lady who owned riches given by demons. The thief they’d tricked. The towhead. The raven-haired man. The lumberjack. 

He’d never done anything like this before. He never had a fascination for death—he was terrified of it, and to bring it to someone else so easily? It was sickening, it was twisted, it wasn’t godly or holy. It was the total opposite of what he was raised to believe—something that he didn’t even believe!

If he’d never been born this wouldn’t have happened. If God hadn’t created such a complicated, twisted creature, none of this would be happening. He wouldn’t have killed someone. He wouldn’t feel sick. He wouldn’t be shaking. He wouldn’t be scared. 

His sister didn’t even want him here, he remembered. His sister never really loved him. Neither did his father, who he never knew. Neither did his mother, who he never saw. Neither did Harris. Neither did Luther. Neither did a million people in the world, he reckoned. If there was someone, they surely didn’t love him. Or at least, they couldn’t anymore. He’d just taken a life, he’d done God’s work. A job that shouldn’t have been tampered with. 

F-ck,  _ f-ck!! _ Why was he  _ thinking this?! He had to stop! _ He felt like he was going crazy!

But that’s what it was, wasn’t it? Raymond was so out of focus that he could hardly hear himself in his own head. Luther was whispering things he couldn’t hear, holding him like a lover, holding him like he would protect him. But what was there to protect? Why would he protect something like Raymond?

Those charming thoughts that told him to stop blaming himself were quickly fading away. He heard something in their place.

“Please, I don’t care about the powers…! We’ll stop all of it! We’ll do what you said and take a boat out of here to Greece! We’ll get away from all of this! I promise, please, just say someth…”

The words died out. The voice sounded so familiar. That idea… sounded so familiar. Where was it from? What was it talking about? What was this thing close to him?

Take a boat… to Greece… To get away? All Raymond ever wanted to do was get away and it never led him anywhere. If he had just stayed in his room, secluded in his tiny town for the rest of his life, none of this had to happen. But he just  _ had _ to run, didn’t he? He just had to run and become a satanist and let all these people die while he made love to a man he never would have met if it wasn’t for nearly dying!  _ F-ck!! _

It all started because he left! He couldn’t find anything good anymore! There was no point in going to Las Vegas other than greed! That was it! He just wanted a small town where no one knew him. Where no one would argue with him if he gambled his money away. Where no one would stop him if he became a hopeless, helpless drunk. 

All he wanted from then on was more and more material things. Money made him happy. Food satisfied him. Sleep restored him. Wanting things gave him more options. Being angry emptied his chest so it could be filled again. This lover of his supplied him. His ego kept him running. But where was all that? Where were all those things that satisfied him once? They weren’t f-cking here, that was for sure!

No, maybe they were. No, of course they were. They were here. They were him. All these sins, they were Raymond. He still held onto every single one of them. He used them like toys. But these toys were tired of being used and turned the tables. Now he was being used by them, wasn’t he? He had no second thoughts about his actions as he spiraled down into the depths of self-hatred, spiraling so fast he wasn’t aware of time at this point. Had a second passed? Had an hour passed? Had a year passed? Raymond didn’t know. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was who he was as a person. All that mattered was what brought him here and what made him.

He knew what he was.

He was a human made of avarice and flesh.

He was a human made of coins and muscle.

He was a human made of copper and bones.

Raymond decided. 

He bit the barrel. His teeth may have cracked against the properties of the gun if he forced enough pressure onto his jaw. He didn’t want to think about it. 

He heard Luther’s voice as rainfall-like tears streamed down his cheeks. He felt Luther’s graceful touch. He felt the heat in his chest and the pounding of his heart. He was in no pain. He felt safe. He felt like he was being protected by an angel. 

Wherever that angel would deliver him, he couldn’t know. 

Raymond Earnest pulled the trigger.

It felt like falling… 


	25. Clearing Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2 Thessalonians 1:9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !Mild Gore!  
> !Light Body Gore!

The shot rang so close to his ear that it prevented all noise from reaching his brain, replacing it instead with a sharp ringing that pierced his mind and made him wince. But the wincing was soon overrun by an expression of pure shock and disbelief. He felt the body in his grasp become significantly heavier and the arms were no longer clutching onto him. He could feel hot liquid seeping through his shirt, causing the fabric to cling to the skin of his shoulder. A heavy object made of metal hit the floor, toppling over before coming to a complete stop as a fine string of smoke rose from its barrel, the thread disappearing quickly. 

The blonde wrapped his arms tightly around his partner, so tight it would have pushed the air out his lungs—as if holding him with vigor would save him. His partner’s knees buckled and his body slowly collapsed, only to be cradled in trembling arms.

The blonde was clenching his jaw as he went down to his knees, struggling to breathe correctly. He hissed through his teeth, feeling a scalding burn within his chest where his scar was. His pale hand went to the face of the gambler, bleeding at the mouth, glassy eyes staring through the blonde. 

He bit his lip, not believing what he was seeing. As blood dripped from the back of the gambler’s head in a thick mess the blonde felt like he was losing himself. He tried to keep his calm by forcing himself to breathe normally, though his voice was cracking through with each exhale, and his arms were shaking so bad that he felt like they would fall off. He carefully set the gambler’s body onto the floor. It laid still, so still, without a rise in its chest for a breath. 

He could hear frantic voices outside the room but didn’t pay mind to them. The blonde knew he was safe for a few moments after blocking the doorway. He didn’t use the time to find an escape or a way to ward the pursuers off—he knew he wouldn’t need to. Instead, with a near-spasming hand, he brushed his fingers over the face of the gambler and closed Raymond’s eyes. He couldn’t bear to be stared at by those bloodshot orbs.

The blonde was genuinely surprised and entirely devastated. Never in a thousand years would he have expected his partner to…

The blood was expanding on the floor. The back of the gambler’s head must have been nothing more than brain and skull mangled into a soup. The blonde stared… 

He reached into his pocket, finding the knife he kept. Though he knew better—so much better—he got to work.

As he carved into his own arm, not daring to allow a single rogue droplet fall onto the gambler, the demon made herself known. The floorboards behind the blonde creaked as she formed herself into reality, her four bug-shaped legs pressing into the wood. Yellow eyes pierced their gaze into the men before her. “Light Bearer,” she addressed, taking a step closer, “What are you doing?”

The blonde didn’t respond. He was collecting blood in his palm, reaching for the gambler’s skull. 

“Daystar,” she tried again.

Pale hands cradled his partner’s skull, the bones beginning to reform. 

“ _ Sir _ ,” she hissed.

“ _ What? _ ” the blonde snapped. 

Beata straightened herself and folded her hands. “That won’t help him.”

“I know.”

The demon hooked her lips into a scowl. “Then why are you wasting time? He’s gone,” she shuffled around to face the blonde’s front, “If you want to continue with your fun little escapade then I suggest you get moving before those men out there destroy your body.”

The blonde paid no mind to that statement. “...The angels will be here if you don’t leave.”

“They won’t do anything with you around,” she glared down at him.

He didn’t grant her the gift of even a glance. He only continued to heal the wounds that wouldn’t make a difference to the broken vessel of his former partner. 

Beata drew her eyes to the ice at the door as she received no reception from the men in front of her. “I know you get invested into these episodes of yours,” she started, “but don’t tell me that you actually cared for him.”

No response.

The demon took the silence as affirmation and shook her head. “You’re not serious…”

The blonde frowned. “What does it matter to you?”

“It  _ doesn’t _ matter to me!” she seemed surprised and confused, “It should very much matter to  _ you _ , though, shouldn’t it?”

Raymond’s body was as still as it had been. The blonde folded the corpse’s arms over its chest. “...It doesn’t,” he lied.

“What would happen if greater demons found that you enjoyed carrying out these perversions in mortals for your own sake?”

“He’s  _ not _ a perversion!” the blonde looked up at her, silver eyes shining dully. 

“Then it  _ does _ matter!” she snapped back, knowing she had him, “In your position—as the  _ Devil _ , must I remind you—this should matter greatly! Do you want  _ another _ rebellion?”

“Why would a rebellion stem out from something as small as this?” the blonde stood, his bleeding arm still dripping. “Besides, you proved that there was nothing to worry about just a moment ago! If angels won’t touch us just because  _ I’m _ here, why would demons do the same? And why wouldn’t I be able to handle them?”

The mantis woman lifted her chin, looking down upon her higher-up. “Even  _ if _ resistance wouldn’t trigger… how does it play out for you personally? How would you have told that man,” her eyes flashed at the body on the floor, “that everything you said was a lie?”

The blonde stepped away from the corpse. “It wasn’t all lies…” he retorted quietly, knowing the truth. 

“Oh, right,” Beata sarcastically agreed, “The powers were real. And the demons. And the trauma you caused him.” There was a slight pause, as if she was expecting the blonde to intervene, but that didn’t happen. “But everything else, well, that’s up in the air, isn’t it? The rituals; fake. Your friends; fake. Envy—oh, forgive me, ‘Mable,’” she mocked, “She’s just a demon used for your petty fantasies. Just like the shapeshifter. Just like me. You expect a select few of us to be reeled into your masquerading lives to play advocates for you. You know, for a while there it felt like punishment for  _ us _ after we inconvenienced you! We had to play tag-along with your stupid ploys and find ways to make your little lies seem all-too-real. But now?  _ Now? _ Well, I don’t know if you could tell by the  _ f-cking suicide _ in front of you, but it looks like this is  _ your _ punishment now!”

The blonde was staring down at the body—the ‘f-cking suicide,’ as Beata so elegantly put it—and he felt that burning in his chest persist.

The demon wasn’t finished, “Did you really plan on acting human for another fifty years in a tiny little cabin with that man? What would happen when he died and he had to meet the  _ real _ you down in Hell? How would you break the news that you weren’t some normal person, that you were the first  _ fallen-f-cking-angel _ and you’d tricked him this whole time? How would you tell him that all those fantastic stories of your past were only true to an extent? How would you tell him that your brother  _ did _ send a blade through your chest, but it was because you forsook God and he had to cast you from grace? How would you tell him that Mabel was just a demon that annoyed you once, and participating in pretending to be human was her punishment? How would you tell him that Trace was a very real demon that would have ripped him apart if you hadn’t forced that shapeshifter to play the same game? How would you tell him that you did the same thing with  _ me? _ Or what about that old woman? She wasn’t a demon! Or any of the men you killed! The blood of their lives stained his hands!”

By then, the blonde’s arm had reformed itself. He kept his head down.

“How would you have told him that he could’ve been in Heaven with his mother had you not intervened?”

… 

“Do you still think he would have loved you after knowing all that?”

Silver eyes met yellow ones, but the Devil said nothing.

“Hmph,” she sneered, “I suppose you’ll be figuring that out soon enough. Death came prematurely for him, didn’t it? Maybe you can find him.” She stepped over to the blonde, “So, will you be dropping the act now? Or do you want to continue playing tag with sinners?”

The blonde bit his tongue and clenched his fists. He drew a breath in, letting it leave with fire. He raised his head but didn’t give Beata a look. “Here’s what I want,” he began, “I want you to survey Hell and find him,” he pointed down at the corpse, “Keep your damn distance and don’t interfere. But you should ensure that he doesn’t get buried.”

Beata’s face changed from frustration and smugness to bitter annoyance. “You’re not serious,” the demon hissed, “Look for  _ one _ soul in a sea of billions?” 

“Did I stutter?” 

“What if the angels consider his situation to be redeemable? Then he’d be hidden in Purgatory and I’d be fumbling through disease and grime!”

“Does it look like I care? Leave, now.”

“It could take days for him to even fall! That’s how the system works!”

Lucifer showed his teeth. “Then you best get down there and watch the skies.”

Beata’s antennas stood on end, showing her disgust. She vocally groaned and dismissed herself, disappearing into hundreds of insects that disappeared into ashes. 

The blonde huffed, truly upset with everything. Though he hated it, Beata did have something of a point. He pushed her words out of his mind, though, and focused on his still-human body. 

He wasn’t sure what to do in the moment. His anguish had quickly turned to ire and it was difficult to control. He was debating on removing the ice and showing the chasers just what he was, destroying anyone and anything he could for what they’d done to his…

...perversion…

...that word rang through his head. He knew that wasn’t the right word to use. He knew that Raymond was nothing of the sort. But the fact that it bothered him so much was what hurt him. He felt that he  _ should _ have considered a human to be nothing but a perversion, and anything more would damage his reputation. Yet, of course, Raymond had to be something more.

He didn’t know what he’d do about any situation. He was fearful that acting out in the heat of the moment would only complicate things more. In the end, it wouldn’t have mattered, but… dealing with the inconveniences would have only been a few more things to add to his ever-growing list of responsibilities.

If he was going to act in rage, he’d do it in a way that might scare the idiots outside the door without confronting them directly. The window on the other side of the room provided an easy escape.

He stepped over to it but paused in the middle of the room where his former partner laid. Raymond appeared to be sleeping… If the blonde would only have nudged him maybe he’d wake up and there could still be a chance to…

The blonde quickly faced away from the gambler. There were too many emotions to unravel due to the body on the floor. 

The sound of splitting wood came from the floor by his shoes. The blonde knew he was the cause and paid it no mind. Light feet carried him to the window. He clutched the frame and pushed the glass up, creating an opening that brought cold air into the room. With the last of the pursuers on the other side of the ice, shouting and trying to break it down, the mysterious man disappeared from sight. 

Seconds after, the ice dissipated. Wounded, Mr. Harris lifted his gun and aimed into the room, alongside an officer or two. The man with the silver watch had been shot in the back, ceasing his left arm to move at all, but it didn’t stop him from trying to get the jump on the men he’d been chasing for so long.

When he was greeted with a dead body lying neatly on the floor, blood around its head but without a wound, and carvings in the floor reading  _ RETURN _ … he just didn’t know what to think.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Days passed. The world was moving slowly. The city of Shreveport had experienced perhaps one of the biggest scares since its making, but it was all shrouded in a cloud of mystery and misdirection. Officers had been attempting to deter the public and prevent newspapers from spreading information until they had all the details. Many officials were still trying to find the blonde man that evaded the group—Mr. Harris not being amongst them. They wouldn’t be finding the blonde. Not then, not now, not ever. But they didn’t know that.

Rumors spread as fast as wildfire, but the official newspaper couldn’t keep up. When the citizens of southern America received their papers at the beginning of the week many were disappointed to find that the case was hardly being reported on. Their ideas of paganism, vagabonds, murder, and demons were never confirmed. The only thing that they were for sure of was the escape of the mysterious blonde and the death of Raymond Earnest. Officials had a hard time determining the means of death, as there were no wounds on his body, but so much blood was caked around his head. His cause of death remained undetermined—which didn’t help the stop of rumors. However, one thing could be said for sure: the country should keep an eye out for the other partner and celebrate the death of the gambler. A danger had been removed, after all!

But… there were a few people that just could not celebrate. Many of Mr. Earnest’s former friends were left flabbergasted and unbelieving of the news. Those back in Springdale, those in his hometown, those in his own bloodline…

It was a grey winter day. Snow fell slowly and silently without wind to push it around. The ground was frozen and life seemingly refused to exist.

Raymond Earnest had been buried in his hometown via the request of his sister, Ruth Earnest. She found herself in the cemetery, gazing upon her father’s headstone that was next to her mother’s… that just next to her baby brother’s, fresh and clean… 

She sat on a small, wooden bench—one of a few around the cemetery. Usually, these benches would be used by entire families as they granted their loved ones silence and comfort. However, Ruth was alone that day. Her cheeks were wetted by tears shed over the course of hours and hours. She held herself, granting silence and comfort to the ones she’d lost… but receiving none of her own. 

She couldn’t believe what had happened. She couldn’t believe that her own brother could fall so low. She couldn’t believe that she, herself, could fall so low. What she said to him… Ruth couldn’t help but feel guilty. 

In her melancholy, she heard footsteps behind her. She suspected it was her lover, coming to try to bring her inside, to try to comfort her. Ruth paid him no mind, continuing to stare forward and watch the snowflakes gracefully land on the headstone of her brother. 

The footsteps came to the bench and continued past it. She didn’t notice the man walking up to her brother’s grave at first, but when she did she realized that it wasn’t her lover. However, it was still someone vaguely familiar: blonde, curly hair, pale skin, white and black clothing. The man held a colorful bouquet of flowers, wrapped up in a white ribbon. 

Ruth’s eyes widened as she realized that this was the man who was alongside Raymond. Luther, that was his name. This was the man that was wanted in the news; the man that everyone would have liked apprehended or dead. A man of death and forsakenness. 

And yet, he was there… carefully placing the plants of beauty at the base of Raymond’s headstone. He was crouched down, ensuring the flowers’ place, and touched the stone gingerly, like a lover. 

Ruth said nothing and watched him, unable to see his face but able to tell by his body language that he was mourning. She wanted to say something but couldn’t bring herself to do so. 

Eventually, the man stood back up. He turned to face her, his blue eyes lacking tears but full of emotions. Emotions that were shared by Ruth. 

He slowly made his way back to the bench, taking a seat just next to the woman. He held his hands together and hung his head. She noticed his fingers were trembling.

Neither of them said a word for a long, long series of moments. 

“...It was suicide,” Luther told her, “...He didn’t let any of those men get to him…”

Ruth choked, bringing a hand to her lips and covering her mouth as tears poured from her eyes like rain in a storm. Though she cried hard, it was almost deathly quiet. 

“...He told me that he didn’t want to blame anything on you. He didn’t want you to blame yourself, either…” Luther whispered, “...He was strong enough to admit those things… but… not strong enough in his own regards.” He shook his head, “He wasn’t a murderer.”

Ruth shut her eyes, struggling to breathe on her own. “...I know he wasn’t…” she cried. She curtained her own vision in hopes of forgetting the memories that showed themselves around her, but there was no escape. She opened her eyes, repeating, “I know he…” but before she could get the phrase out, she saw an empty seat next to her.

Luther was gone. 

She looked around in an attempt to find the man, but his figure was nowhere in sight. For a moment, she doubted that he was ever there in the first place. She wondered if the grief had taken over her mind and she was beginning to imagine things. However, looking over at the headstone proved otherwise—the bouquet of flowers still laid atop her brother’s grave.

  
  


* * *

  
  


A knock on the door interrupted the man’s reading. He set his book open and face-down on the table next to his chair and stood, dusting himself off as he walked through his home. The man was middle-aged with a clean, proper demeanor. His dark hair was combed nearly atop his head and his clothes were in pristine condition. He was a man who knew how to handle himself. 

He approached the front door and opened it, letting the evening light of Baltimore shine through. Another man stood there, a figure who he recognized. “Mr. Harris!” the man greeted, immediately noticing the sling that hung around his acquaintance’s arm. 

“Mr. Bond,” the man with the silver watch nodded, “You look well.”

“I wish I could say the same for you. What happened?” Bond stepped aside, offering Harris shelter within his home. 

“It’s a terribly long story,” Harris said, “One that I hope I can share in-full with you?”

Bond shut the door, eyeing his guest somewhat suspiciously. “Of course,” he agreed, “But… Where are the others? I paid three other men to help with our mission, did I not?”

“You won’t need to pay them anymore. They’ve expended their uses.”

Bond tilted his head. He offered a meal, which Harris politely refused; he offered a seat instead and they made themselves comfortable. “Tell me, tell me what happened.”

“It’s a long, grueling tale,” the man with the silver watch admitted, “But I’m sure it will give you a great sum of inspiration… just as you asked.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


It felt like falling…

Time eluded him. He wasn’t sure how long it had been, how he should feel, or what dictated anything that was happening. All he knew was that he was cascading through the air, descending into darkness, never able to know the brightness of light again.

And then, he landed.

His back struck the ground in a way that felt like he’d been winded a million times over. His mouth opened, gasping for air, and he writhed on the floor. He knew his eyes were open but he couldn’t see anything at first—the world was slowly unfolding around him as his vision had to adjust to the lighting and clear themselves from the blurriness they had endured. His back arched and he kicked, fighting an invisible, weightless force as he struggled to breathe.

Finally, when that first gulp of air filled his lungs, he felt relief. It didn’t last, for that breath was a trigger to all the other pain in his body. Hurting the most: his back. It felt as if his spine had broken out of the skin, twisted and crushed after the fall. He groaned and whimpered, fear and paranoia taking over his mind. The back of his head felt like it had been pummeled so harshly there may have been a hole in his skull.

He looked up as he regained his strength. He saw a dull, red mist high above him, covering a ceiling hundreds of feet in the air, being supported by impossibly huge pillars of stone and earth with the same grey-wine coloring. He felt the confines of being inside a building or a structure but the air around him felt like it came from outdoors. 

In his confusion and pain, he brought a hand to his temple, trying to soothe his headache. He felt more than fingers on his skin, though, and more than hair on his head. Something soft brushed against his scalp, but something hard felt as if it had grown from his skull. With a cold sweat on his brow, he brought his other hand up, but stopped the motion upon seeing something… very peculiar. Huge, black feathers were sticking out from his arm. They stemmed out from his elbow and grew down the back of his forearm, stopping just before his wrist. The longest and biggest feather stuck out at least two feet past his fingertips; the same situation was apparent on the other arm.

He felt his breath hitch. He didn’t know what he was looking at. He curiously pulled at the appendages, but the feathers were buried into his flesh like they were a part of his body. 

He felt his head once more, wondering the hard… thing… was that he felt only a moment ago. Smooth, stone-stiff protrusions stuck out of his skull just next to his temples. They curved over the sides of his head and ended at a point. 

Feeling somewhat sick, he sat up from his lying position on the ground. On the… ground…

He found that he was in a small ravine-like structure—a split in the red earth that harbored bodies upon bodies upon bodies… Many of them looked human but strangely not at the same time. Most of them weren’t moving, and if they were they appeared to be on the brink of death. He saw leathery skin, fur, scales, horns, tails, claws… 

A recognizable memory hit him. Then another, and another, and suddenly he remembered everything. Except it all felt like a dream, like it didn’t happen.

He was… There were… These were demons. He knew their looks and the patterns he’d seen in previous ones… that he’d summoned… and seen…

Demons… laying here… Where was…? How did he…?

He remembered the gunshot. And the pain. And the darkness… There’s no way he… Did he…?

The man brought his hands to his head, rubbing his face with those large feathers brushing against him. The stench of death and infection was all around him. It made him feel awfully sick… he had to get out of this pit.

He pushed his hands into the ground beneath him—the ground that felt surprisingly fleshy. Upon looking down he found himself to be sitting on a cluster of bodies, quietly groaning, hardly moving. He kicked himself off of the ground, trying to flee them, but his legs felt strange and wobbly—not to mention that escaping the bodies was useless as they were everywhere around him. His legs stumbled over themselves and he fell, his back hitting the wall of the pit. 

That’s when he noticed what was wrong with his legs… They were… They weren’t his…

He blinked and rubbed his eyes again, convinced he was seeing things. And yet, the sight never left. Large, bird-like feet stuck out of the bottom of his tattered trousers. The skin was grey and the talons were black, and he had control of them. It genuinely scared the hell out of him, because he realized that he wasn’t quite human.

A commotion from a little ways away caught his eye. He saw a monster—the only thing that could describe it—reaching into the pit with a giant, hairy hand. It snagged numerous bodies and lifted them up to its colossal, disgusting face. Teeth protruded from its mouth—a mouth that had no lips—and clamped down on the bodies. Small, beady eyes were sunken into its skull, and silver, matted hair covered the back of its body from its skull to its tailbone. Tar-like liquid leaked from the bodies as the monster’s fangs sunk into their flesh and crunched their bones.

The man forgot about his troubles and focused on the danger that crouched only a hundred or so yards away from him. He turned himself and stepped over the bodies, trying to get away from the monster. He saw an area in the ravine-pit that dipped down enough where he might be able to reach it and climb out. He hurried over as quickly as he could, trying not to stumble over bodies or his own feet, and made it to the dip. Looking over his shoulder he saw the monster still chewing on the broken bodies, and he quickly determined that it hadn’t seen him. He jumped up and grabbed ahold of the ledge, jagged rocks pressing into his hands as he tried to haul himself up. The pain in his back limited him, and he was only able to get up by exalting extreme effort into his actions. 

He pushed his body onto the new level of ground, the earth around him dry and flakey. He could push his fingers through the dirt and collect it like gravel, but it held neither the texture of dirt or gravel. It felt entirely new, entirely strange.

Before he could be any more curious, though, a heavy force knocked him a few feet away from his spot and sent him rolling. He tried to get up as quickly as he could to face his attacker, but the thing was on him once more before he could react. He was on his back, being pinned to the dusty ground by a demon. She had the torso of a woman, her skin deathly pale and unclothed, but the rest of her body was entirely gruesome. From her waist down was what appeared to be the body and legs of a crustacean, if that crustacean had grown and morphed and mutated to impossible measures. Bumps and spikes on her many legs acted as armor, though there were fleshy growths that looked entirely unnatural and sickening to pair with the armor. Her arms were gone entirely, leaving only a patch of skin over the sockets of her shoulders. And her head—Christ, her head—was one giant mouth. Closed, it appeared to be the beak of something like a squid, but when it opened it unleashed an onslaught of grinding teeth and writing tongues. 

Two of the many legs had the man pinned to the ground, the demon’s weight painfully pressing into his stomach and shoulder. He tried to push on the legs as her head lowered itself to his face, but his efforts were entirely futile. Spit hit his skin and he shouted for any help—the only thing he could do.

Just before his face became a mess of mangled skin and tissue, the weight of the demon was removed… by another. He saw a different creature barrel into the side of the crustacean-woman, knocking her prone as the new demon took a chunk out of one of her legs. With a broken, alien-like voice she shouted at the demon and backed off, going on her way. 

When the new demon looked back, the man got a decent view of it. It held the form of a humanoid, with all the right proportions in the limbs and body. However, it appeared to be made entirely out of crystal and stone, rocks protruding from its body in an armor-like fashion. He could hardly recognize a face on the creature as it stepped forward, approaching him. 

With fear running through his veins he staggered to his feet and tried to dash. But, again, he was knocked down almost as soon as he looked away from the demon. He desperately tried to writhe out of the rocky grasp of what had him, struggling enough only to be able to flip over and see it up close. The demon’s arm had grown significantly, spreading around the man and fusing with the ground to keep him trapped in place. Meanwhile, the stones and crystals that made up the rest of the thing’s body began to shrink and morph into seemingly-normal skin. 

The man, though panicking, could see an almost-human shape above him. Long, black hair fell over the back of his head, and a quaintly-shaven beard hung on the bottom of his chin. The demon had three horns creating a crown-like shape over his head, the biggest being flanked by two smaller horns that had been carved into. The characteristic that made him entirely recognized by the pinned man, though, was the demon’s eyes. One was completely normal, but the other was inverted in a sense that the ‘white’ of his eye was colored black and his iris and pupil shone pure white. 

The shapeshifter!

“Trace!” the pinned man cried out, “Wait! Trace! It’s me!” He suspected the demon did not recognize him, and maybe that’s why he was attacking? He could only hope that was the reason. 

The shapeshifter’s eyes squinted down at the man, and his face went from concentration to revelation. A smirk found its way to his lips and he asked, “Raymond?” pleasantly surprised. 

“Yes! Yes!” the gambler nervously chanted. 

The stones around him retracted back to the arm of the shapeshifter, returning to a normal state of flesh and bone. “Holy sh-t!” Trace laughed, reaching down and grabbing Raymond’s arms to pull him to his feet. “That really you?”

“Yes! Oh God…” his knees shook and he kept a tight hold on the shapeshifter, trying to stay on his feet. 

“What the hell happened to you? It hasn’t been that long since—” A rumble from the guttural voice of the monstrous demon from earlier sounded a short way away from them. The demon had finished its snack and had eyes on the two. The shapeshifter snickered to himself, checking around him. “Well, you’re damn lucky that I found you when I did,” he told the gambler. Then, his entire body morphed. It grew significantly in size, the entire form changing. Raymond nearly missed the change as it happened so fast; before he knew it, he was being stepped on by the foot of a giant bird, then lifted into the air at great speeds. He yelled with instinctual panic as he became weightless in the grasp of gargantuan talons, rising higher and higher. His body was awkwardly grappled in a way that put him in no danger of falling but felt risky all the same.

Looking up, Raymond saw an impossibly huge bird. It’s simmering black and gold feathers moved with the wind that collided with them as it flew through the misty sky. The gambler had to remember that it was Trace and not some carnivorous monster… hopefully. Now that he thought about it, he wasn’t sure what the shapeshifter was doing around that pit when all the other demons seemed to be scavenging there. 

Peering down made his stomach flip. The ground was so far away it surely would kill any creature that fell from this height. He saw the pit below, the wound in the earth stretching for miles and miles, bodies littering all throughout it. Trying to crane his head behind him to look at the pit, Raymond noticed things falling from the sky. They would appear from the fog that coated the ceiling and crash into the pit below. They were… more bodies… Is that why Raymond felt like he was falling?

The pit quickly left his sight, though, and ahead of him, he could see something in the distance. Structures towered high from the ground like a grand, twisted city. He could only see a few layers of buildings before the fog became so thick and the lights became so bright that it created a visual barrier against the rest of the structures. 

While along the ride, the gambler was trying to convince himself that he was dreaming. Surely, this wasn’t happening. Surely, the creatures that he saw dragging themselves across the ground below weren’t real, or the flying creatures gliding over the city weren’t actual demons. Surely, this was all fake and he was only dreaming. All he had to do was wake up, right? Then he’d be right where he ended off at… in that room… being chased by Harris… after shooting that man…

...and then himself…

_ This really was happening, wasn’t it?  _ he thought to himself. And though he had a sneaking suspicion of where exactly he was, his brain simply wouldn’t allow himself to believe it. 

Soon, they were within the perimeter of the twisted city. Small buildings dotted the outer rim of the metropolis, the structures only becoming more cramped and taller the further in they went. Below, the gambler could see lit streets with living bodies and creatures sharing lives all around. They shuffled down walkways, flew overhead, crawled over walls, or jumped from tower to tower. He saw modes of transportation: giant flying or walking beasts that appeared to be alive, swerving through towers, and never stopping. He saw one of these creatures with a large eye at the front of its form, as if the eye was its entire face, and fins along its body that cut through the air, pushing it along; another with the bones of its spine exposed and walking on four spindly legs; another appearing to be smoking, its form never quite holding shape as a mass of gas, weaving by structures and demons. The only things these numerous creatures had in common was that they were all colossal in size and carried dozens and dozens of demons on their bodies. 

Lights of all colors illuminated the crowded city. They came from street lamps, huge windows, strange fixtures on display, and even from other demons. Everything was passing by so quickly, though, that the colors danced before the gambler and he had to close his eyes many times to shield himself from the onslaught. 

From this distance, Raymond could see a tower that stood out amongst the rest, and tallest among them too. It reached all the way up to the ceiling, hundreds of feet tall, attached to the roof. The building’s shaft was held steady by metal spokes that reached up to the ceiling or to other towers, crudely made and dual-acting as a perch for winged demons. The building itself—though appearing to be built on-a-whim—looked much bolder and prettier than the rest. Huge, colored banners hung from window sills and melted metals had hardened in the cracks of bricks and stone that held the tower together. Stained windows hid the inside from the out, intricately designed in meaningless patterns. They flew past the building. 

Though they traveled for a long while more, the tower was still in sight by the time the shapeshifter began circling. A cluster of buildings sat beneath them, none too intricate or eye-catching. The bird descended upon a balcony that hung off the side of one of the buildings and dropped Raymond onto it. The gambler roughly hit the surface and fell onto his side by the time Trace had shifted out of his previous form and into a more humanesque one. His horns and eyes were as catching as they always were, his ears remained pointed, and a thick, partially furry tail dragged behind him. “Well!” he dusted himself off, “C’mon! You poor bastard, got here earlier than you thought you would?” Trace opened a door at the wall of the building. 

Raymond pushed himself up, not answering as he was still trying to collect his thoughts, and mindlessly walked inside. 

Within the building was a cozy home-like structure. A large bed sat off to one side of the large, open room, a desk and hardly-touched workspace to the other side. Paintings and banners hung from the walls, and shelves with all sorts of nicknacks decorated the space. Decent light formed itself as candles or light fixtures on the walls and ceiling. On the opposite side of the room from the gambler was a staircase leading down. It smelled… musty… as if things hadn’t been properly cleaned or paid the needed attention. 

Raymond took a breath, feeling the weight in his legs growing to be slightly too much. He wobbled as he stood, still not understanding his situation. 

“Pretty thing,” Trace began teasingly, “What happened? Those bastards catch up to you?”

The gambler looked down at his hands, seeing feathers alongside them as he raised his arms. He stared at his bird-like feet, his tattered, bloody clothes, his chest rising and falling with each breath. He…  _ felt _ … alive… but if everything around him proved his suspicions… 

“Ray~” Trace snuck a hand into the small of his back in a half-comforting, half-provocative manner, “Doing alright?”

Raymond stepped away. “I… Uhm…”

“C’mon, c’mon, I’m curious. Hasn’t hardly been a year now, has it?”

The gambler rubbed his face, shaking his head. “I dunno…” he huffed, “Tell me, tell me real quick…” he looked around at the room, suddenly feeling a wave of heat hit him, “Where am I?”

Trace played games, “My home, of course~” he smirked with pointed teeth. 

“I know, but… why does everythin` look different… why is it all…” 

“Sin City is pretty different from what you’re used to, isn’t it?”

“Sin City…?” the gambler echoed, his voice becoming more and more pitiful, “I… I don’t…”

“Raymond,” the shapeshifter quieted him, “Isn’t it obvious? You’re in Hell.”

There it was. The words that confirmed the gambler’s fears and sunk his heart deep into his core. He kept his eyes glued to the floor, not responding. 

“Now, tell me what happened—the short story—and maybe I can help you connect some dots?” Trace tilted his head, clearly not caring much about Raymond’s thoughts and emotions. 

The gambler raised his chin to the demon. His emotional eyes scanned the face of the man in front of him, and paranoia stole his soul. He didn’t know… what to think. 

Subconsciously, he started to tell his story back. 

And he learned. He figured out that he had, in fact, shot himself and landed right in Hell. He was told that the pit he fell into was where all the new souls landed after days of being morphed into their new bodies—bodies that resembled the animalistic, sinning side of their human selves. He was being told so many things, but they all flew over his head. He only had one thought in mind: where Luther was. In a great big world, where was he? Was he even still alive? Was he somewhere in Hell, being eaten by one of those… terrible demons…? The thought made him sick. 

“ _ Hey _ ,” Trace made the gambler snap out of his blur, “Listen, I’m still busy with things I wanna do today. So, tell you what,” he peered around the room, “I like you and you owe me anyway. You can stay here. It’ll be hella safe for you. All you gotta do is… not mess anything up around here and don’t go outside.”

“...Why can’t I go outside?” Raymond asked. 

The shapeshifter was stepping over to the balcony door. “Because demons will see a pretty thing like you and rip you to pieces. You can’t die twice, so unless if you wanna be lost and paralyzed, I’d suggest staying in here,” he opened the door, “Until then, make yourself as comfortable as you can! We’ll be doing…  _ business _ … once I get back~” he grinned and stepped out onto the balcony before Raymond could get another word out. The gambler hurried to the door, trying to stop Trace, but the shapeshifter was already gone. 

Raymond was left standing in the dust.

He could hear the bustle of the city outside, voices and noises that he recognized only as white noise. His shaking knees prevented him from standing still, and he met with one of the walls to keep his balance. 

The gambler wandered the room, feeling like a stranger, feeling like he didn’t belong or shouldn’t have been there. Eventually, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye and was terrified of the thought that someone else was in the house with him. Thankfully, though, that wasn’t the case—it was only a mirror that hung on the wall by the bed, and he only saw his movement reflected in it.

Raymond saw himself in the mirror but didn’t recognize anything about him. He trudged over to the tall, reflective glass, examining his form. 

His bird-like legs were the first things he noticed, so foreign and impossible. The feathers along his arms reached the floor if he let his arms rest at his sides, having no use other than to just… be there. He hadn’t even noticed his tail until he saw it in his reflection—a black, crow tail falling like a long skirt behind him. His clothes looked even worse than they had before he got here, the seams torn and trimmings ripped. Upon his head were two horns, beginning just next to his temples and protruding along the sides of his skull, ending at a point…

Raymond wondered if he’d be stuck in this form forever. He wondered how hard it would be to recognize him, now. Trace hadn’t—hell, he hadn’t even recognized himself. What would happen when Luther came down? Would he even recognize his own partner? 

Oh, Luther… There were so many possibilities running through the gambler’s head. He didn’t want Luther to be dead, but he also didn’t want to be alone here. But if the blonde  _ was _ dead, then what were the chances of finding him? There had to be thousands of people in Hell, right? Millions? No, billions! Billions of people…

How would Raymond find  _ one _ person in a sea of  _ billions _ of others…?

Why didn’t he listen to Luther? Why didn’t he believe they would escape to Greece? Why didn’t he register anything that his lover had told him right then? Why did Raymond have to—?

A knot in his throat prevented him from breathing normally and tears were obscuring his vision. He couldn’t even go outside to look for his partner… 

Feeling so weak and defeated, he pushed himself against the wall. He let his body slide down to the floor, and there he sat. Crying, helpless, lost.


	26. Approaching Storms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Galatians 5:19 - 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !Sexual Implications Warning!  
> !Unwanted Sexual Implications Warning!

Raymond was emptying his stomach outside, just next to the wall of the building that Trace lived in. The shapeshifter was standing in the doorframe, watching with folded arms and a shaking head. “C’mon, my food wasn’t  _ that _ bad,” he offered. 

Raymond coughed up what he thought was the last of it. He raised his head and turned back to the demon with deep frustration in his face. “Are you  _ f-ckin` _ kiddin` me? You think it was  _ just _ the f… food?!” he felt the acidic burn in the back of his throat and turned back around, belching. 

Trace walked over and patted the gambler on the back as if trying to help. Raymond swatted him away as he puked the last of his meal up, hating who he was with. He stood up and spit on the ground, trying to get the wretched taste out of his mouth as he stepped away from the mess on the ground. “You couldn’t have waited a bit before you dropped the f-ckin` sun on me?”

“The hell do you mean?  _ You _ were the one wanting an explanation! It’s not like I told you anything horribly disgusting, anyway!” 

Raymond pushed him out of the way and walked back inside. On the bottom floor of the small, two-story building were a lounge and a very small kitchen. The gambler went to that hardly-functional kitchen and took a rag from the countertop, wiping his mouth and tongue in an attempt to remove the taste. 

Raymond learned a lot of things moments before, and the weight pressed down on him until it emptied his belly. Even before that, though, Trace had been out and about for a few hours while Raymond sat on the floor in his pitiful state, upon which the shifter saw when he returned home. He made a small bit of food for the gambler, hunger becoming an apparent problem, and talked to him about his circumstances. 

Raymond was told that he was a demon. That was something that he could have guessed, but having it be told to him was a feeling he didn’t want to experience. Knowing that he was in Hell, a place for horrible, wretched people, and knowing that there was some form of Heaven that he could never experience had taken a toll on his head.

He was told that the process was complicated and vague, but Trace assumed that once he started following Luther, his fate had pretty much been sealed. Shooting the lumberjack wouldn’t have helped, either—once he died, Raymond was doomed for Hell. Trace didn’t know for sure how all of it worked, but he knew that all new souls fell through some sort of void before landing in the pits. There’s no hole in the ceiling that allows demons in or out of Hell, the souls just appear from the fog and crash to the earth.

Raymond was told his ranking. He was pretty much at the bottom of the food chain in Hell, a “pure demon,” Trace called him. It sounded nice, but it wasn’t for the location he found himself in. Pure demons were those who were usually fresh from the fall, down in rankings so low that they had little-to-no powers and wouldn’t be able to defend themselves against anything. He’d need to worry about everything and everyone, as it all posed a threat. Hunger, exhaustion, infection—it all needed to be taken care of.

Raymond knew what would happen if he got caught on someone’s bad side—Luther had told him. He’d get buried… paralyzed for years but still alive. Once the dust caked on top of him, there would be no way out. 

He was told he’d need to work to climb the ranks. Next step was a lesser demon, a demon who’d know how to use their powers but were still weak against others. Most demons in Hell were lesser demons and fed off of pure demons to climb the ranks. Lessers didn’t have to worry about mortal troubles like eating and sleeping, and lots of demons found no reason to climb the ranks after becoming a lesser.

But, there were those who wanted more: greater demons—that’s what Trace was. There were plenty of greaters to be found, all with their own perks and lifestyles. Trace lived day by day, doing what he could to climb the ranks, though he was already high up. Being a shapeshifter gave him many advantages in keeping himself alive and getting what he wanted. However, many other greaters secluded themselves or took over businesses of their own or established a small cult amid Hell. Those who did would surround themselves with lessers and pures as a sort of defense and earn a reputation in Hell. 

Yet, the demons with the best reputations were ancient demons. These were demons who’ve been around since the Fall of the Devil. They fought with him in Heaven and were struck down, just like him. There weren’t many left in Hell after wars that left them buried or having never survived the Fall, and a good handful of them stayed in Hell’s castle, serving the King. But a few broke off and made lives in Sin City—the place that most—if not all—demons resided at. The best ancients are so sneaky that they’re never seen, or so powerful that nobody could touch them. 

Raymond, feeling slightly sick then, asked about the city. He was wondering about how he might be able to get any information about how to find… someone. He figured that the Devil would know, and asked about going to the tallest tower he saw while Trace carried him over the city.

Trace sort of laughed at him. Raymond had assumed that the tower was the castle, but was mistaken. The castle was pretty far from the limits of the city, secluded and protected. Turns out, not too many demons like the Devil and would take any chance to dethrone him. It wasn’t like they could do anything, the King was the most powerful demon to exist, but constantly having to get rid of pests wouldn’t be too thrilling. So, far away he lived with his Choir of Sins and other ancients, safe from the chaos of Sin City. There was no talking to the Devil unless you were a friend of his or doing business with him. Anyone who tried to enter the castle unannounced would be torn to shreds in an instant. 

The tower that Ray had seen was the tower of Asmodeus—a fan-favorite ancient demon in Hell. He worked through sex, and lots of it, giving any demon the chance to indulge in love and kinks, all while being protected by him. Many got to participate with some of his specially-elected demons, and the lucky lot got to play with Asmodeus himself. If anyone wanted any information on anything—be it about a location, Earth, a person, or anything at all—they went to Asmodeus and tried to please him. The ancient had people of his own everywhere around Hell and Earth and was keen on spreading rumors and restricted information. 

Raymond felt divided about the subject. He couldn’t go to the Devil for information, but Asmodeus might be able to give him something… in exchange for sex? That wasn’t very appealing for the gambler—in fact, it was disgusting to him. He couldn’t imagine giving himself to anyone but…

...Luther.

That’s who he’d be trying to find. There had to be some other way, right? He asked if there were any other demons who might give him a chance, but Trace simply denied that there were. Asmodeus was going to be his best bet. 

Raymond asked if Trace could do him a favor and ask Asmodeus for him. But, that’s when things turned around. 

Trace had said, “That’s not quite how things work for me,” with a knowing smirk, “And I think you’ll be fine to go to Mode after you’re done with me.”

“What does that mean?”

The shapeshifter explained, “Well, I thought we agreed that once you got to Hell, you’d have to owe me for helping you out.”

“...Right.”

“So, I was thinking you could hang around here and I could just use you for favors~”

Raymond blinked, his lips hooking into a scowl. “Are you serious?”

Trace looked uncaring. “Yeah.”

The gambler stood up, “I’m not gonna be a f-ckin` sex slave!”

“Come on! That’s what everyone’s here for! There’s no laws or limits! Nobody’s gonna judge you!”

“That’s not the point! The hell is wrong with you?!” 

“It won’t be bad! C’mon, you and Luther had something, right? Wouldn’t be so different.”

Raymond was about to retaliate, but he felt his stomach flip and realized where he should be headed. And that’s what led to the situation at hand. 

He couldn’t believe what Trace was asking of him. To be someone’s  _ toy _ was an insane and disgusting thought. Paired with everything else, with this entirely new world, dogma, and social class he had to follow, it felt like some sort of nightmare. Terror and paranoia flowed through his veins, and it eventually piled up so much to push his dinner out of his body. 

Trace hung back, looking around like nothing was wrong and had his arms folded.

The gambler huffed, scraping his tongue against his teeth as he tried to think. “...Listen, I can do a lot of things—”

“Not in that form you can’t,” the shapeshifter interrupted.

“Just let me do  _ somethin` _ . Somethin` besides that. Anythin`!” he offered.

Trace shook his head. “There’s not much you  _ can _ do.”

“Please! For the love of God, please! I can’t just give myself up like that!”

The shapeshifter rolled his eyes. “Sh-t, it’s just one session.”

“Don’t matter!” Raymond tried, “I just can’t do that!”

Trace was annoyed. He waved the gambler off. “We’ll figure something out.”

The gambler was only relieved that he didn’t have to commit to anything right then, but the possibility that he would still have to get close to Trace in any sort of regard made him itch. He wanted to ensure his safety, but the shapeshifter continued.

“The hell else do you wanna know? I’m not gonna have you pester me for days on end, let’s just get it all out of the way.”

Raymond didn’t care much about Hell itself. He didn’t care for the people here or the layout or the politics—he just wanted to know where he could find Luther. And then, it struck him. His brows raised and he blinked. “Do you know a demon named Beata?”

Trace scoffed, “Yeah, I know the bitch.”

“Personally?”

“Are you insane? No! She’d bite my head off!”

“Okay, well, she was mine and Luther’s patron back… on Earth, I guess. Do you know where she is?”

“Hell’s Castle.”

Raymond bit his lip, “I need to talk to her.”

“That’s a straight death sentence, I already told you.”

“I don’t care! I  _ need _ to figure out where Luther is!”

“Listen!” the shapeshifter snapped, “If he’s dead, you wouldn’t be able to find him anyway! He’s either lying helpless in the pits, already buried or broken by another demon, or somewhere in the midst of Sin City! Asking around isn’t going to get you anywhere—Sin City is made up of billions of residents on multiple levels! And if he’s alive, you can’t even get up to Earth without somehow magically climbing the ranks so fast that you’re capable of traveling through realms. And even then, how would you find him? There’s a billion people up on Earth, too!” he frowned, “You really think you have  _ any _ sort of chance to find your bastard lover? He’s  _ gone _ .”

Raymond puffed his chest out, trying to stay strong. There was no way he was going to let himself slip in front of Trace.

The shapeshifter barked, “He’s gone because of  _ your _ mistake. Be like the rest of us and get over it.”

The gambler felt a crushing weight on his back. He bit his lip and turned away, holding himself. The feathers on his arms got in the way and he just wanted to rip them off. “It didn’t even matter, then…” he told himself and spoke openly.

“What?”

He shook his head. “The name, the ranks, the rituals, the summonings… none of it mattered.”

Trace rubbed his temple, “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I was told that I was going to die and get some sort of great place here. Luther promised so much. He said we were gonna stick together in Hell and we were gonna be high in the ranks. He said we were gonna be known as these big-shot demons—the f-ck was my name s’posed to be? Zozo?” he turned back to the demon, “And all because I couldn’t keep my sh-t together, it’s all gone, ain’t it? None of it mattered.” He didn’t cry. His eyes never even watered. But his face drooped with such a sadness it made him look decades older than he was. 

That genuine sadness didn’t seem to faze the shapeshifter. He gave the gambler a cold stare and turned for the flight of stairs, heading up.

Raymond felt entirely defeated. He didn’t think much as he heard Trace move upstairs, he just listened to the sounds while standing still. He wondered how long it would take for him to accept that there wasn’t any hope waiting for him.

The shapeshifter came back downstairs. In his arms were some clothes, folded neatly. His feet hit the floor and he commented, “You said it doesn’t matter?” he walked up to Raymond, “How about you make it matter.” He shoved the clothes into the gambler’s hands. 

Raymond lowered his brow. “...What?”

“Put those on and let’s go visit Asmodeus. I’ll do you a favor.”

The gambler shook his head, “Nono, I… Trace, I told you I can’t let myself do that—”

“F-ckin` drop it,” the shapeshifter hissed, “You don’t have to do sh-t, alright?”

Ray squinted. “The hell are you helpin` me for, then?”

“Listen,” Trace moved his hands as he talked, “You are absolutely pathetic. And you turn me right the f-ck off. I’m not going to keep someone who’s in a miserable state in my home for-f-cking-ever.”

Raymond frowned. “So you’re just helpin` me so you can f-ck me later.”

“I’m helping you because I feel bad. And who the hell knows, by the time this is over with you might want to do it or you’ll be out of my life altogether.” He cleared the path for the gambler to go upstairs. “You’re free to take the offer or keep being pathetic. Your choice.”

There was a certain lightness about the situation—one that could very well be retracted later, but still there all the same. Quickly enough, with a hitch in his breathing, he climbed the stairs.

The gambler undressed and redressed, finding the clothes to be fairly good. A simple undershirt, vest, and trousers. Nothing entirely fancy but enough to make him look like he hadn’t escaped a hungry beast. 

When he approached the stairs, he looked to find Trace at the bottom of them. The shifter came up the flight, beckoning, “Let’s go.”

“Right now?”

“Sure,” Trace went for the balcony door. Raymond followed him without question.

The shapeshifter asked, “Before we go… You said you had a patron? Beata?”

“Right.”

“Did you get any abilities? Magic or some sh-t?”

“Yeah, actually,” Raymond remembered and stepped back. He focused on the floor and brought a few hands up from the surface—his concentration was somewhat thrown off after the whole episode downstairs, but he made do. He sent the grabbers away shortly after, thinking to himself what else he had. “I can light candles and other little things, too. And I can turn into a crow once a day.”

“Sh-t, look at you! That’s more of a lesser demon thing than a pure, being able to use your powers like that,” Trace smiled, “And hell, that crow thing might be perfect.”

Raymond looked over the city, able to easily see the tallest tower in the distance. “What, to fly over there?”

“No, but for something else. You’ll figure it out.” With that, he shifted into the same giant bird from earlier and lifted Raymond into the air, carrying him over the city. 

The gambler saw the same scenery he did when he was first shown the city. Many different things, hardly anything was a duplicate.

Fast-approaching the tower still took some time. When they reached close to it Trace lowered to the ground between buildings and set Ray down about as gracefully as last time. The gambler hit the pavement and fell over, colliding with a different demon. It’s glistening, snow-white skin—or rather,  _ fur _ —reflected off of the many lights and its slim, deer-like face turned to the gambler. It stood on four legs with the complete body of a dear, but where its neck should have been was the torso of… a man? Another deer? It was hard for Raymond to describe. Human arms covered in fur were crossed over its hairy torso. It huffed and stomped one of its feet just as Trace shifted out of his bird form and landed next to Raymond. The deer demon noticed the man and lifted its chin as if it never saw anything and continued on its way.

Trace quickly lifted the gambler to his feet. “Falling’s about the worst thing you can do in the city. Try to stay on your feet. Don’t wanna piss off anyone and start something.”

Raymond said nothing and stuck right at the shapeshifter’s side, able to see many creatures up close. Creatures resembling insects, arachnids, fish, amphibians, birds, mammals, reptiles, and things Ray had never seen before surrounded them and walked all with their individual purposes. Some appeared more human, some appeared more animalistic, some appeared more object-like. It was a total overload for his brain and he focused entirely on walking with Trace.

They were close to the tower, its form reaching high above their heads. However, the shifter wasn’t leading them to the tower. Instead, he was heading for a grand spire made of stone and gold. It didn’t reach the height of many of the buildings around it, but it was shiny and surrounded by sculpted fixtures. Raymond asked, “Is this the entrance to the tower?”

“No, but it’ll take us to it.”

“There’s no entrance here?”

“Well, there is. Every level has one, it’s just I know which one will get us to Mode the quickest.”

“Level?” the gambler echoed.

“Oh,” Trace grinned, “Hell’s made up of levels—or rings, whatever floats your boat. Nine official levels, with a technical tenth but it doesn’t matter.”

They approached the spire and Raymond saw a gargantuan staircase, winding down and around the spire. Demons crowded it, going up or down on their halves of the stairs, leaving hardly any wiggle room between them. 

Trace continued, “The tower cuts through Hell, clear down to the sixth level. Sin City takes up levels one through six, and level three is the most populated.”

“What about the other levels?”

“Seven is vacant because of the number of twisted bitches down there. Super powerful demons who’ve lost all sense of humanity and attack on a whim stay there. If even an ancient demon gets lost down there they’re bound to get pummeled by a monster demon.”

“The monster demons are only down there?” Raymond found it hard to believe, “What about the ones I saw at the pits?”

“Oho, buddy, they get  _ way _ worse than that. Trust me, if you think that demons up here won’t give you much mercy, the monsters downstairs will f-ck you backwards and leave no evidence of you behind. Total animals, no reasoning with them.” 

The gambler felt himself shudder. They approached the start of the stairs, heading down. Ray found it somewhat challenging with his strange, large feet, but the strife didn’t come in great numbers.

“The eighth is like a chaotic prison system. I forget who they have down there… Cain and Judas and people like that, probably.”

Raymond wanted to say something but found himself unable to. The thought of two heavy names— _ Cain _ and  _ Judas _ —being thrown around like they were talking about normal people was mind-boggling to the gambler. 

“Gotta be a real popular, real bad guy to be sent down there. Trapped in your own personal hell, as if the original Hell wasn’t bad enough,” the shifter shrugged, “Then, the ninth, I’m pretty sure it’s just a barrier. The last bit of defense between us and the damned souls. Nobody knows what it’s like because nobody’s been there, but there are rumors that Beelzebub is kept there.”

“...Beelzebub?” Raymond questioned.

“Oh, you wouldn’t know, but there’s been a million and one rumors about if Beelzebub ever existed. He was supposedly the first demon Satan ever made after his Fall and turned against him along with a bunch of other ancient demons. Ended up losing and was punished with eternal imprisonment,” he shrugged, “I don’t believe much of it. I know there was a rebellion in Hell before the creation of Adam and Eve, but I can’t really believe that the Devil was able to make something so powerful with his own hands—let alone make something at all. That’s more of a God thing, and Satan isn’t  _ quite _ a god of creation.”

Raymond tilted his head, “Who led the war then?”

“Some ancient demon, I’d reckon. Probably buried or hiding after that fiasco. I wasn’t there to see the fight, obviously, I only got here a few hundred years ago—but the ancients don’t tell anyone anything. They’d be the only ones who would know, and they either deny the rumors or swat off the questions.”

“Sounds fake, then.”

“Yeah, that’s what I think too. But it’s a big thing in Hell. Anyway,” he exhaled, “The ‘tenth ring,’ if it even counts, is for damned souls. They’re just normal souls personally hated by Satan who get their freedom ripped away and are forced to dig for more room.”

Raymond remembered Luther telling him about that. “What type of people usually go down there?”

“I dunno. A lot of times it seems random.”

That part of the conversation ended, and the gambler asked, “So, which level are we going to?”

“The third. Even though that’s where most people are, not many go through that entrance. Lots of them get denied.”

“But not in other entrances?”

“No,” Trace answered, “The third level is where Asmodeus lives, I guess, so it’s all private. Other levels of the tower are just used for demons who want a quickie or want some sort of job or protection.”

“Nobody gets into fights?”

“Surprisingly, no. Asmodeus is pretty strict about his tower being a place of enjoyment. He’s pretty as hell but he’ll crush you in an instant, don’t let him fool you.”

The gambler nodded and asked, “How will we get in through that door, then?”

“Oh, I know Mode. He’ll let us in.”

Raymond raised a brow. 

“I always give him a good time when I can. We’re buddies, he’ll let us in.”

The gambler looked away, wanting to gag some.

  
  


* * *

  
  


By the time they made it down to the third level, Raymond was feeling entirely too tired to continue. His legs were weak and his stomach was growling, the sickness having passed awhile ago. Meanwhile, Trace was looking just fine. Not a thing fazed him, but the gambler could assume that was the luck with greater demons. 

They got out of the way of the crowd—though hard to do—and took a breather. Well, really, Trace waited while Raymond took a breather. 

Down here, the city didn’t look much different. Asmodeus’ tower reached the ceiling and cut through it, with multiple other buildings trying to do the same but failing. The ceiling was slightly lower and all the structures looked the same, though the gambler knew they couldn’t have been. 

After making up the strength to push on, Trace led the way through the endless sizes and colors of demons and around the tower. The base of it was wider than the rest of the tower, and as they approached the doors Raymond tried to keep a mental map of where they were heading. The entrance was entirely beautiful despite the reality it sat in—large wooden doors with golden handles and knockers were framed in carved stone, banners along either side of the doors. 

A small group of demons had beaten them to the doors, walking inside the space. Trace followed behind this group, walked in, and Raymond saw that there were a number of demons in the small area. Another set of doors was off at the back of the room, making it a gated entrance. A demon who looked fairly human was banging on the door with persistence, seemingly annoyed, and calling for someone on the other side.

Raymond wasn’t sure how to step around the group, but Trace was entirely uncaring. He pushed through the others, casually flashing his powers in the faces of those who puffed up for a fight; he’d shift his hand to deform his fingers with claws or bug-like legs, and the demons would instantly step down as if knowing who Trace was. Raymond could only trudge behind with his head down and arms at his side, feeling very small. 

The shapeshifter went to the door and knocked loudly, asserting, “It’s Trace!”

A spyhole that Raymond hadn’t seen before then opened on one of the doors. The gambler didn’t see much other than some jagged movements through the hole before it closed again. The sound of metal fumbling on the other side could be heard before the door opened a crack. Trace, with a smug smile, entered, telling the figure on the other side of the door, “He’s with me,” as Raymond followed directly behind him. 

Once through, the door slammed shut and was locked up by a very large, burly demon. Dressed from head-to-toe with intricate, jeweled wrappings was the impossibly beefy body of a man-sheep-mix—a seemingly living interpretation of a minotaur, but with ram-like proportions. The head of a wooly ram was atop husky shoulders, painted horns wrapping around the sides of his head in a complete ring with jeweled laces hanging from either horn. Bright piercings in the ears and nose were seen, too, and Raymond realized he was staring when the demon huffed and knocked his mind out of its trance. 

The large demon—standing well over a foot taller than the gambler—took the lead in front of Trace. No words were shared as the minotaur demon made its way to a staircase at the back of the room.

The large, circular space was occupied by many furnishings and decorations. Raymond could smell the wealth in the air… and the sex. It was overwhelming and he breathed shallowly. 

The demon stopped at the base of the stairs, arms crossed. He opened his animal-like mouth to speak, “The Prince is three floors up. Do not disturb the scenery,” his voice was extremely deep. 

“Right,” Trace simply said, making his way up the stairs. Raymond glanced one last time at the demon before chasing after the shapeshifter and following upstairs. 

The gambler breathed a sigh of relief, having felt awfully nervous around a creature so big. Trace paid him no mind.

Up three flights they went. Raymond could hear the faint bustle of the city through the decorated walls, surprisingly quiet within the building. 

Each flight was met with a door before proceeding to the next. No creatures occupied the spaces until they reached the third floor. Beyond the barrier, Ray could hear soft voices speaking to each other. Trace gave a friendly knock on the door while offering Raymond a particular look. 

“Come in!” a feminine voice with a hearty undertone called. 

The shapeshifter opened the door.

The room presented was slightly different than the rest: tables, desks, and shelves lined the walls, along with stained-glass windows. Near the center of the wall adjacent to the door was a white and gold curtain made of thin material surrounding a small portion of the room. Movement came from behind it; parting the curtains revealed a human-like demon with small horns, large ears, and red scales along its naked back, arms, and legs. The demon was a woman, her long hair falling over her breasts as she had this awestruck look in her eyes. She said nothing, brushed by the two, and made her way out the door. 

Following her was a figure much more eye-catching. Emerging from the curtains was a demon roughly eight feet tall. Feminine features mixed with a male body, along with many other peculiarities. His legs were those of a goat, silky and dark with crested hooves. The torso and head were those of a human—though, oddly, the skin was dark grey in coloration. Upon his head was a crown of eight teal horns, making a half-circle along both sides of his skull. Pointed ears and bright-turquoise eyes complimented the makeup on his face—or were those markings on his skin?—that was found around his eyes and lips. Strangest of all, though, were the appendages that replaced his arms and hung from his back: teal tentacles. The ones that acted as arms reached down to his ankles, and the four along his back moved calmly through the air. 

The demon stepped up and greeted, “Why, hello Love,” to the shapeshifter. This was the voice that was heard earlier, very feminine but with subtle, deep undertones. His smile was charming and his form was entirely enticing—though partially covered by simple drapes, it was easy to see how slim his stomach was and how curvy his hips and thighs were—something simply unrealistic by human standards, but alluring in this fantasy world. It struck a chord in Raymond that he didn’t quite feel comfortable with but couldn’t draw away from at the same time. 

“Evening,” Trace took the octopus-like tentacle that the demon had for an arm and brought it to his lips, kissing the skin. “I didn’t interrupt you, did I?”

“No, goodness, we were just finishing up,” the demon parted the curtains, revealing an extremely large bed. The stench of sex was strong in the room, Raymond had noticed after seeing the ruffled sheets of the furnishing. “What do you need, Love?” he asked while taking a seat on the bed and crossing his legs. 

“Well, allow me to introduce you to a friend. This is…” Trace peered at the gambler, “Zozo,” he finished, “A pure demon fresh from the batch.” The shifter then said, “Zozo, this is Asmodeus.”

Raymond couldn’t find words to say as he was shocked by how strange, yet surprisingly flattering, this demon was.

The Prince of Lechery raised his chin a little higher as he looked the gambler up and down. “He looks quite fun,” he chirped in an enticing way before gazing at the shifter, “What’s your favor?”

“Actually, we’re switching things up,” Trace said, “ _ He _ needs a favor.”

Asmodeus looked pleasantly surprised. “Is that so?” His bright eyes went back to Ray, “And what might this favor be, Zozo?”

Raymond had trouble forcing words from his mouth and choked on them, “...I need to find…” he cleared his throat, “...someone…”

“Oh, poor thing,” the demon stood and pitied him, “There’s no need to shiver, I don’t bite unless you want~” Asmodeus walked over to the gambler and stood just next to him. Raymond’s head didn’t even reach up to the demon’s shoulders, and he felt entirely tiny. “Who is this someone?”

“No one you would know,” Trace pushed into the conversation, saving Ray, “Just his lover. Either dead and here or alive and roaming.”

“Well, this sounds like something exciting. Sit, boys,” the Prince offered, politely pushing against Raymond’s back as he directed him to a chair at a small table. The gambler took a seat, Trace sat on the table, and Asmodeus stood. “Who is this lover of yours? I’ll need to know what you and her did to wind up in a place like this.”

“Uhm,  _ him _ …” Raymond corrected quietly, “His name is Luther…”

“Oh, really?” the demon tilted his head, “Sinners don’t usually get sent down because of man-on-man activities.”

“I don’t think it was because of that. We were satanists, so…” Raymond shrugged and looked down at his feet.

Asmodeus had a confused look about him but pressed on the conversation anyway. “Tell me more.”

Raymond did his best to keep his eyes off the demon—for his own sake—as he told his life back to someone. He didn’t know whether or not to spare the ancient of the details or add every last aspect, but his words ended up falling into place enough for the demon to come to some conclusions. 

“That’s terribly tragic, isn’t it?” Asmodeus commented once Ray was finished, “Well, I can do a few things to help, I believe.”

Raymond lifted his head and listened intently. 

“I can send one of my personal associates out to scout around for a bit and report back to see if they find anything. They won’t interfere with anything or anyone, they’ll just bring news about their find,” he said. “Or, I can offer you enough power to let you climb the social ranking quicker. That way you can find a way to break through this realm and back onto Earth—though that will have to be something you do on your own,” a pause, “Or, lastly, I can offer you a gateway to Earth here in my tower. You’ll be able to get to Earth, but you’ll stay looking like that since I won’t be offering power to you. And if you crawl around the human realm looking like that, Heaven will find you.”

“Well, he won’t have to worry about that,” Trace said, “He can shapeshift.”

“Can you?” Asmodeus asked with excitement in his tone.

“Yeah, but… only into a crow. And only once a day.”

“For how long?”

“The entire day, I s’pose.”

“Let’s see, let’s see,” Asmodeus waved him on. 

Raymond, nervously, stood from his chair. He bit his lip and concentrated, closed his eyes, and felt himself shift. The cracking of bones and tearing of muscles could only be heard, not felt, and when he opened his eyes again he was small, on the floor. The crow fluttered up to the table and looked to the Prince, who was smiling gleefully. “That is adorable! Immensely impressive, too!” 

The gambler hopped down to the floor and shifted out, finding a hint of pride in his chest, but it was overrun by anxiety. He peeped a small, “Thank you,” before sitting back down. 

“Well, that should work perfectly with the third plan, then! If you’re able to do that, Heaven will have no reason to attack you.”

“Why’s that?” Raymond asked.

“So long as you don’t appear like a demon, they won’t bother you. We’re able to roam Earth as we please, we just can’t meddle with their precious creations,” he sighed, as if daydreaming for a moment, “If you ever do shift out of form, you’ll only have a few minutes before you’re thrown back down here by the angels. Just be wary, if that’s what you plan on doing.”

“I think it will be,” the gambler nodded, “Is it… settled then?”

“Well, not quite,” Asmodeus stopped him, “I’ll still want something from you.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Trace waved, “I’m his payment. You can do whatever you want to me so long as he’s on his adventure.”

“Hm,” the demon hummed, “Trace, Love, while I do adore each of your performances, I’m afraid I’ll need a little more.”

Raymond felt his hands start to get clammy. 

“I’m always looking for something new… And I don’t feel like my end of the deal will be fulfilled until I get something fresh,” he peered at the gambler. 

“Mode,” Trace hopped off the table, “I’m here specifically so he doesn’t have to bed anyone.”

“Whatever for? If this is  _ his _ favor, I feel like it’s only fair if he pitches in on the work,” Asmodeus said. 

“Right, but I do the same thing all the time,” the shifter debated, “If I ever want a favor outside of the bedroom, I always bring someone else as payment instead of myself.” 

“Yes, but each time they’re new,” the Prince said, “It’s a much more… intimate interaction to experience someone for the first time.”

The gambler swallowed, feeling his stomach flip. He kept his head down and stayed quiet. 

“Well, what else can he do?” Trace asked, “I’ll let you in on the ‘why’ he won’t do it afterward since he’s not so talkative. For now, what arrangement can we come to?”

Asmodeus brought a tentacle to his chin, thinking. “Well… For each time he visits Earth, I’ll need payment…” he murmured to himself. Shortly, his head lifted, and he had an idea. “Oh, Zozo~” he called.

The gambler peered up, his face painted with discomfort. 

“You said that one of those men who were chasing you was still alive, yes?”

“...Right,” Raymond answered. 

“Tell you what,” the Prince walked up to the table, “I have an idea. I believe this will suit better than the other offers.

“I would only expect that, after you find your Luther, you seek revenge on this man? After all, he’s caused you a stupendous amount of strife and grief, and even caused your death in a way.”

The gambler frowned, “I… didn’t quite consider… revenge…”

Asmodeus smirked, “Well, I feel like you should. You see, if you can kill this man, I will find myself asking for no payment from you.”

Raymond lowered his brow, “...Why would that be considered payment?”

“The day you plan to deal with that maggot, you should inform me. I’ll send an associate with you. After you kill that man, my associate will follow his soul and collect him once he lands in the pits. Then, he’ll be brought to me, and I’ll have found myself a new toy,” the demon talked so smoothly and casually, though spoke about something so demanding and repulsive. “My associate wouldn’t intervene in your endeavors or help you in any way. I doubt you would even see them.”

Though the idea was morbid, Raymond found himself uncaring about Harris’ outcome. After everything that had happened, it felt deserved. Still skeptical, though, he asked, “...Do I have a deadline?”

“Well, not exactly. So long as  _ you _ kill him, I find no problem with the plan. However,” he leaned over, getting close with the gambler, “If he dies before you can get to him, I will demand  _ personal _ payment from you. Nobody else will fill your spot. And if you try to avoid it, I will not be nice.” 

A looming danger fell upon Raymond, making his heart thud and replacing the once-flattering aura that Asmodeus had about him. 

“Is that very clear?” the Prince asked politely.

“...I s’po… Yes.”

“Wonderful,” he stood straight, “Then we have ourselves two options. I let you to Earth whenever you please, with Trace being temporary payment each time you travel. Then, you find your lover, find that sinner, let me know the day you’ll be striking him, make the kill, and our favor will be concluded. Or, you may walk out of this tower and forget we ever talked about a deal,” he clasped his hands together, “What will it be?”

Raymond looked from Asmodeus to Trace, drew a breath in, and sighed it out. The shifter nodded to him, and Zozo decided. “I’ll take your deal.”

Asmodeus grinned. “Then it’s settled.” He stepped around his bed, “When will this start, then?”

Trace suggested, “Maybe tomorrow? We’d love to start as soon as possible, but… a pure is still a pure, and he needs food and sleep.”

“Oh, of course, of course,” the Prince nodded, “I hope to see you two soon, then.”

“Hopefully…” Raymond sighed, “Thank you.”

Asmodeus only smiled as the two men left the tower.

  
  


* * *

  
  


The shapeshifter left after Raymond had his meal and slept in the lounge of his home. He soared above the first level of Sin city, in the direction of Hell’s Castle.

As quickly as time allowed, he reached the outskirts of the city. The hills and earthy pillars stretched mostly barren for miles, hiding the view of the lake that sat in front of the Castle. The shapeshifter found the broken pillar and dipped down to its base, shifting out of his bird form and into his more approachable human-like form. There, he waited.

After a few minutes, he could hear the sound of scattering insects nearby. Chirping crickets and hissing mantises crawled out from under the dusty ground, climbing on top of each other and multiplying quickly until the form of the half-mantis, half-woman demon appeared in front of the shapeshifter. She ruffled the wings on her abdomen and gazed down at the demon before her. “Trace,” she addressed. 

“Beata,” he sang back. 

“Did you find him?”

“You know I did,” he smiled. 

“Is he staying with you?”

“Mm… Sort of.”

She folded a pair of her arms behind her back, waiting for an explanation. 

“He’s staying with me, but he struck up a deal with Mode to go to Earth to try to find Lucifer and kill that Harris bitch.”

The ancient demon cocked her head, “He knows that Luther was Daystar?”

“No, he still thinks Luther was just a guy,” Trace said.

“That’s good,” Beata nodded, “Daystar has retired back to the castle, so stumbling into each other shouldn’t be a problem until the next time he decides to play mortal.”

“When do you think that’ll be?”

“Unless something prominent happens, a century’s time is the average.”

“Oh, well, Zozo shouldn’t be scouting Earth for that long. He’d be stupid not to give up,” the shifter said. 

“Right,” she nodded. “Does Asmodeus know about Daystar’s latest journey?

“I don’t think so. Should I tell him?”

“No, I’d like for this to be a private matter and stay between you and me.”

The shapeshifter crossed his arms, “You really are hung up about getting back at Satan.”

“Unlike you, I don’t  _ just _ have to show up when he calls me to Earth,” she barked, “I have to take time away from my overwhelming duties in the Castle; I have to give powers to a petty human, which backtracks my own progress; I have to ensure that all of this is kept private from other demons—”

“Alright, alright,” Trace stopped her, “You win, Christ.”

She huffed.

“But that kid is f-cking pathetic,” he shook his head, “I don’t want to live with a depressed bastard for the rest of forever just because he can’t find his lover. Why not just give him to the Devil? It’d probably keep him busy.”

“Daystar has to learn that adding more responsibilities to my work will only end in punishment. Though indirect, the message should get across.”

“You’re bold for someone who won’t even spit in the Devil’s face.”

“I would rather not be damned.”

The shifter looked away. 

A pause. 

Trace asked, “What happens if they do end up finding each other?”

“That’s unlikely. But, if it must come to that, keep your end of the deal and I’ll keep mine—no snitching and blame Daystar. He’s been surprisingly emotional these past few decades, he should break easily.”

“Sounds simple enough.”

“And keep Zozo from being buried, at least, in case Daystar blows up and wants his toy back.”

“Right.”

Beata dipped her head down. “If you have anything else to say, I suggest you do it, for this will be the last time we discuss the matter.”

Trace shrugged, “I don’t have anything.”

“Then I’ll have never seen you.”

“And I never saw you.”


	27. Business As Usual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Psalm 91:11

Asmodeus had led Raymond up to a room much higher than the initial bedroom he’d first seen a day ago. The gambler was rested, fed, and in good shape. He felt physically ready to go through with whatever the challenges were ahead of him, all he had to do now was work through the mental battle. Paranoia and overstimulation was a real threat that could stop him, and without anyone familiar at his side, he’d have to push through it alone. 

Trace was left a few floors down, not needed for the next few steps. Once reaching a dim, partially vacant floor, Asmodeus turned to the gambler. “Alright, a few things, Love,” he started, “This room is charmed to allow you to travel. This is the only place you can go to Earth from, and the place you’ll end up in when you decide to come back.”

“Okay,” he said, “How do I travel? I don’t see any…” he didn’t quite know what he was looking for. “...anythin`.”

“Oh, there’s no object that will let you come and go. All you have to do is use one of your powers, and it will be tied to your transportation.”

The gambler looked confused.

“You’ll figure it out when you use a power. It isn’t hard, I assure you,” Asmodeus told him. “Any questions before you leave?”

“How do I get back?”

“The same way you go. Use your power—anywhere on Earth should work.”

“What if… I can’t get back?”

“You will, Love, don’t worry. But, if you  _ do _ have trouble, you can shift into your demon form. The angels will strike you right back down.”

“...Won’t that hurt?”

“Certainly!” the Prince chuckled, “Just be careful. If that happens, you’ll land in the pits again, and you might be back at square one.”

“Right…” Raymond looked down at his shoes, “Any tips?”

Asmodeus bit his lip, “Maybe if you get on your knees~?”

The gambler tensed up. “No, no thank you,” he quickly said, shimmying back.

“Love, don’t be so uptight! I’m only teasing,” the ancient smiled, “The only thing I can offer to you is, if you see another demon, it might be best for you to come back. Don’t want to get caught while on Earth.”

“What do you mean?”

“Only certain demons may go to Earth at certain times, all have to get permission from Daystar. It’s for regulating chaos, I suppose. But, frankly, I don’t give a sh-t,” he said, “If you spot a demon, just come back. You’ll never know if they’re part of the Castle or if they’ll tattle on you.”

“...What if I do get caught?” the gambler asked quietly, doubting himself.

“I would trust that you wouldn’t say anything about me if that happens,” he gave Raymond a look. 

Ray dipped his head down and took a breath. “Alright…” he said, “...Guess I just go?”

“Whenever you’re ready, Love,” Asmodeus stepped back towards the door.

The gambler adjusted his weight and looked down at his feet. He sighed, raised his hands, and used the power he knew best; grabbers split through the floor, writhing and swinging around. Except, this time, they reached for Raymond—something they’d never done before. He couldn’t stop them before multiple hands snatched his ankles and pulled his legs, and suddenly he was being yanked through the floor. He let out a yelp as everything when dark and his body felt as light as air.

He blinked, and found himself in a totally different area. On solid ground once again, he was able to collect his posture. The small room was bright orange with the setting sun burning cold through the window. A chill settled into his skin as he looked around the space, feeling this vague nostalgia. 

Raymond looked down, seeing that the grabbers were gone and finding that he was standing on a wooden floor with a large, faint stain at his bird-like feet. Just next to the stain was a carving into the wood—the gambler squinted to read it.  _ RETURN _ , the hell did that mean?

Ray lifted his head, holding himself in an attempt to ward away the cold. Shelves with decorations and nicknacks lined the walls, and a doorway with a busted frame sat opposite of the window. 

The memories came flooding back at once. They flashed like lightning in his mind and made his blood run cold. He remembered… this was the last room he’d been in before he…

… 

This was the tobacco shop. He was upstairs at the end of the hall, fearing the sound of rushing footsteps chasing after him, knowing that a gunshot would come soon.

He realized… those footsteps were real. They weren’t just in his head—someone was coming up the stairs. Raymond panicked for a moment before remembering that he had to shift into a bird. Maybe he could avoid the nightmare that was coming for him. He stepped out of the way of the doorway, focusing as he felt the movement of bones beneath his skin, the air leaving his lungs for only a moment before he found himself to be much smaller, and just in time, too. A man with dark hair hopped into the room, wielding an object that scared the hell out of the bird… before realizing who and what it was.

The man was no one of peculiarity or familiarity, and the weapon he held was merely a broom. The owner of the shop, Raymond reckoned. The man’s head was on a swivel, looking just as scared as the crow was. His eyes caught the bird and his guard dropped, letting out a sigh of relief. 

The crow looked up at the man, worrisome that he might try to attack. But, that never happened. Instead, the man only said to himself, “How’d you get in here?” and looked over at the closed window. The shop owner walked over, checking to see if it was loose. 

The bird took this opportunity to waddle out of the room, traveling down the hall at a slow pace relative to his size. He was near the top of the stairs when the man came out of the room and followed him. “Please don’t make a mess, I’m just about to close up,” the shop owner said. 

Raymond wondered if the man knew about his faux form, but realized that he was probably just talking to himself whilst addressing the bird. It would be something the gambler would do if faced with the same situation. 

The crow looked to the bottom of the stairs and fluttered down to the first floor before the man could catch up. He walked around, smelling the tobacco in the air and finding it to be very overpowering for his bird form. As the man came down the stairs the crow went to the closed doors and waited, looking back for the shop owner.

He went right to the door, commenting, “How polite,” and pushed it open. The crow hopped out and found himself on the sidewalk as the door swung closed. 

The chill of the winter air was undermined by the feathers coating his body, but Raymond still felt frigid. He had to ignore it, though, and get to his mission of finding Luther.

But where in the world would he be?

He supposed he should start with trying to find out if there was any evidence that he was even alive. Even though Raymond wanted to believe that his lover was still out there, trying to make the most of this awful situation, he had to rule out the possibility of the opposite. It made his heart sink, but it was a first step he’d have to take. 

Where to look, then?

Carriages passing on the road and people walking by could surely threaten the bird if he walked the entire way, so he made use of his wings and flew up to the top of the tobacco shop. He quickly realized just how clumsy he was and knew he’d have to be very careful in order not to trip up anywhere, especially when landing. Once he was safely on the roof, a light breeze hitting him, he looked over the edge and at the city. 

Though a crow, he still had the same thoughts as if he was human. He tried to push the ‘bird’ fact out of his mind and thought about where to go if he was trying to see if someone was alive or not. He looked from building to building, reading the signs and concluding that not many of them would have even a hint of the answer.

As the bottom of the sun touched the top of the horizon, he realized something. They were in the newspaper! He wasn’t sure how many days it had been since the incident happened, but if it wasn’t long ago then he could read a paper and figure out if Luther was still alive or not. 

With his plan set, all he had to do was figure out where to find a newspaper. Everyone would have it, surely, but where would he see one that would grant him the easiest read?

He would just have to find out. And how better to look than to glide over the city?

The crow took off.

  
  


* * *

  
  


“ _ Return… Return…  _ Hm…” Mr. Bond tapped the end of his pen against his chin, frustrated. “I don’t know, I feel like we could do something with that.”

Mr. Harris was rubbing his face, sitting on the other side of the desk while desperately trying to stay awake. “That was about the  _ least _ interesting part of my endeavors, and yet you gravitate toward it?”

“Between satanism and markings on the floor, which do you think people will want to see more? It’s a scary thing to be a pagan, and scares don’t sell.”

Harris was beginning to seriously doubt his partner. All the work, all the chasing, all the death—all for nothing to show other than a paralyzed arm? He doubted the project of Mr. Bond’s would ever sell at this rate, and if he would have known that he would have never taken the money to go exploring in the first place. 

“What do people enjoy these days?”

“Drama,” Harris answered while yawning, “Not meaningless—”

“Quiet, you,” Bond cut him off, not taking his eyes off his drawing sheet. 

They sat in silence for a few more minutes, Harris beginning to doze off in his seat… before his acquaintance asked him another question. “What about how  _ you _ interpreted it? Surely being there in the moment, witnessing those satanists first hand, you would feel  _ something _ compelling? Maybe I can turn those emotions into gold.”

“I wish you could turn anger and fear to gold—my family would be filthy rich ten generations down the line.”

“Anger and fear  _ don’t sell _ ,” Bond said.

Harris sat up, frustrated, “Then  _ what does? _ ”

He rolled his eyes and murmured, “None of your ideas…”

If he could have used his arm, Harris would have felt inclined to choke the snark out of his acquaintance. 

Bond rapidly drummed his fingers on the desk, hating how he couldn’t think. The tapping of the pen on his chin turned into thwacking as a sort of punishment for not being able to push an idea out of his head for days now. All this excitement, and yet he was facing an art block? God, what was he doing? 

Maybe Harris was right about a few things—focusing on one tiny detail that didn’t hardly matter was absurd, wasn’t it? What did it even mean?  _ RETURN _ , return what? From where? It was as crazy as believing it was a message from that poor satanist—a message from the dead. 

…

From the dead…

Bond suddenly had it. 

With silence in his voice but spastic movements at his fingertips, he started scribbling in the corner of the paper he had. Harris saw the gears turning in his acquaintance’s head and became slightly more interested. “What do you—”

“ _ Sh _ ,” Bond silenced. 

The man with the silver watch threw his hand up, shaking his head. He was ready to cash in for the night and leave the company of this practically-crazy man. Still, though, he tried to keep himself awake in his seat by rubbing his face and poking at a particular nerve in his arm that hurt like hell. He expected Bond to say something soon.

Unfortunately for Harris, that didn’t quite happen. All Bond did was whisper to himself and fill an entire page with messy words and pictures for a solid half-hour. By then Harris had fallen asleep, head back on the chair, mouth open and snoring. 

After that time had passed, Bond lifted himself from his seat and took the paper in hand. “This,” he spoke, not caring if anyone was listening or not, “This is something I can work with.”

His loud voice woke up the other man in the room. Harris snorted as he woke, rubbing his face as extreme drowsiness weighed on him like a pile of bricks.

“Spiritualism—that’s what people are gravitating towards. Ever since the Fox sisters’ rapping performance, this country hasn’t gotten enough of it. I never thought I could recreate a product that would act the same as the sisters’ phenomenon, but I think I may have figured something out,” he was pacing around his desk. 

“What the hell are you talking about?” Harris asked drowsily.

“Get some sleep, sir. In the morning I’ll be back and I’ll let you know if it really can work!” he was heading out the door of his office.

“Where the hell are you going?” Harris asked, louder this time.

“To see a colleague who will know more about the science behind this than I do.”

“It’s the middle of the—!”

The door closed.

“—night…”

Though rightfully annoyed, Harris could be thankful about one thing: being able to get some sleep. He collected himself and stood, removing himself from the office and finding the guest bed.

Meanwhile, more than a thousand miles away, that crow was finding a place to rest for the night. He had dealt with the complications of food and shelter (picking scraps from market stalls and finding an alleyway to rest in) and was trying to settle down after recovering the news…

...Luther was alive. He’d read the paper from a lounging citizen of Shreveport, reading the news on a bench. It took… a few attempts in order to fixate himself in a way that wouldn’t make the person shoo him away or be frightened, and once that happened he just had to skim over pages. It was one of the first stories—he expected nothing less—and found that all his suspicions were entirely true. Of course, he doubted that the media would paint neither himself nor his partner as good people, but rather describe the stories of the heroic men that had chased them for so long. It wasn’t surprising, but it wasn’t a great feeling to have read, either. 

However, the crow also read that ‘ _...the second of the Satanists had escaped, and a search is ongoing… _ ’. That was all that the bird needed. Luther was alive,  _ somewhere _ out there. All he needed to know was where to find him. 

It would have to be a task for the morning, but it didn’t stop him from planning ahead. Where to go? Where would he find someone as elusive as Luther? Surely not in Shreveport—though the crow thought he should check just to be sure. If not in the city, then maybe back somewhere they’ve already gone to? The train station? Springdale? Vegas? His hometown? God, the bird wouldn’t even know where his partner’s hometown would be. Though, he didn’t figure that Luther would even go there. With such a bad reputation and horrible memories harboring that location, he doubted the blonde would step within a hundred miles of that place. What about the gambler’s hometown? He may have gone back to Ruth for help—but that was unlikely. Still, it would be a place to check, just to be sure. And if not there? Maybe Luther would have started their plan that they came up with in the hotel the last morning they were together—building a tiny shack in the middle of nowhere to continue his practices. Unfortunately, the middle of nowhere could be just about anywhere, and the crow would have to do a lot of searching. But what if that wasn’t it, either? He recalled Luther talking about fleeing the country by boat, traveling to Greece to avoid the law. If that was the case, he was sure Luther was already lost. It had been a few days, and the blonde would have gotten on a ship as soon as possible. 

There were too many options… It hurt the bird’s head just thinking about it. He tried to think positively: if Luther continued to live a healthy, private life, the crow would have a good sixty years before his partner would be gone. Sixty years was a very long time, surely he could navigate the world wherever he needed to in that span? Surely…

He also had to worry about Harris. The search was still ongoing, which meant that Harris was most likely still after the blonde. And that bastard always seemed to find where they were—whether by luck or fate, it ultimately didn’t matter, because it meant that Luther was still in danger. Maybe… maybe if he could find Harris, he could find Luther! That had to be the right move, certainly?

In the morning, he would do so. He would read the paper more carefully, maybe try to catch some details in a police unit, anything that might help. In the morning, that was the plan.

Little did he know, though, that it would be a much,  _ much _ longer period of time to find either of the men than he anticipated. And he certainly wouldn’t find either of them on terms he would expect. Because, of course, Harris wasn’t hunting Luther any longer, and Luther wasn’t who he presented himself as. Zozo had no knowledge of that, though. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Five years had passed. Half a decade, and—though extremely depressed—Zozo hadn’t let his determination slip. He’d created a system and a schedule: he would leave Hell for a month at a time, coming back for no more than a week to carry out any favors asked by the friend’s he’d made or collect any new information before taking to the skies as a crow once more. And though, each and every time he would come back relatively empty-handed, the demon had indeed learned many things.

The past half-decade was long, grueling, and overloading. Getting used to Hell while illegally being on Earth for the majority of his afterlife was entirely difficult. It took the gambler far longer to fully understand the class system, beliefs, and basic unspoken rules of the plane, but by now he’d learned. 

Bars, brothels, and private buildings were the most popular spots in Sin City and the best place to find friends and associates. Zozo found himself losing his past name as he placed himself in these buildings—not so much for their general services but for the particular services of others. Most times, they came in fair quantities. He used these friends of his to help survey Earth or to use as payment if Trace was ever unavailable or out of the mood. 

Trace, though still a complete asshole, was quite helpful in Zozo’s regards. Whether by giving information, ideas, or helping him earn his place in Hell, the shapeshifter was mostly compliant. Zozo still lived in the same building as the shifter, though there had been add-ons to make the gambler feel more at home. 

Zozo was able to find and keep friends fairly easily, which is something that the shapeshifter was surprised by. Not many ‘actually good’ people ever came to Hell, so maybe it was just the gambler’s charming personality, but he also bet it had something to do with the crow-demon’s status. From his past experiences with an ancient demon and just by being on Earth, he’d grown his powers very fast. Though the gambler may have not known it for a long time, he was becoming increasingly stronger. He’d officially found himself in the class of a lesser demon, and an intimidating one at that. Some quiet whispers had gone around of a crow-demon that wandered Earth associating himself with the greater shapeshifter and it struck an interest in the minds of many demons. When Zozo visited the populous buildings of the city all he usually had to do was ask people if they wanted something to do, and it would more often than not work out.

Trace had told them that those stranger-demons complied because of a few factors, probably. Intimidation or interest being one of them, as Zozo had made a small name and Trace was such a big name that any creature would want to get a taste at what the crow-demon offered. Another could have been the chance to spend a few hours with Asmodeus, personally, just because of how special you had to be in order to do so. Or, perhaps it was because most demons are just looking for something to do. After dying and arriving in a place as large and confusing as Hell, all a demon wants is a purpose—and Zozo was giving them a purpose that didn’t deal with being someone’s pet or slave (something many pures and lessers fell into the category of). 

And though, by doing all this for five or so years, still nothing had come up. Zozo was usually found drinking his sorrows away when in Hell, only to disappear for a month after his week was complete. He couldn’t find either of the two men he needed to find. 

Until, one week in Hell, something particularly interesting came to his attention. 

Zozo was in Trace’s, home, waiting for the shapeshifter to get back to whatever it was he did when out and about—scrounging around the pits, fighting other demons, f-cking other demons; all of it was a possibility. A knock at the door had interrupted the gambler’s rest, though it hardly mattered to him. When he went to the door, he was met with a pair of twins. 

The crow-demon remembered these two pures. They were sisters, shaping to be the same design: antlers and legs like a deer with bone-like protrusions sticking out from their cheekbones, elbows, shoulders, and collarbones. Their spotted skin was pale and looked sickly in the light of Hell, and their eyes were a deep yellow. The sisters were tasked by Zozo to wander Earth in search of any information about the whereabouts of Robert Harris and Luther Stagmire. 

And they looked like they were excited to share something. 

Zozo invited the shifters inside and they showed him something: a newspaper, very recent, stolen from Earth. The twins pointed out the passage they wanted the crow-demon to read, and he soon saw why they were so eager.

The passage spoke of a seemingly innocuous family toy on the market:  _ Ouija, the Wonderful Talking Board _ . At first, the gambler was confused as to why this was pointed out, but reading about who was credited to the creation of this toy sparked his interest. The creator was a man named Elijah Bond—a name so familiar yet just out of reach for the gambler’s brain. The name was repeated a few times, but once was the name Robert Harris in the passage, a man that Bond took inspiration from. And that’s when he remembered: Bond was Harris’ employer, the reason why Harris was so far from home, spending his wretched money on gambling. 

The paper was from the streets of Baltimore, Maryland. And suddenly, for the first time in years, Zozo had a set destination to go to. 

At the end of the week, Zozo traveled to the Prince of Lechery’s tower, alongside the twins. Their reward was to spend a night with Asmodeus—something everyone was after, as mentioned. By now, Zozo would just drop off the demons and head upstairs without a word. But, this time, the ancient stopped him. 

“Zozo, Love, wait a moment,” Asmodeus called to him, “May I have a small word with you?”

The crow-demon halted, “Sure.”

“I know you must want to be off soon—”

“It’s fine,” he sighed with a small grin, “Nobody’s really goin` nowhere.”

The Prince smiled, seeming pitiful for the gambler. One of the tentacle-arms touched the lesser’s shoulder and he said, “Well, I just wanted to let you know that you may drop my half of the deal, if you wish.”

“What d’you mean?”

“The part about getting that… oh, dear, what was his name? The one chasing you?”

“Harris.”

“Harris, yes,” the ancient nodded, “I don’t feel as though you need to retrieve him for me.”

“Why’s that?” Zozo was genuinely confused. 

“With all the other demons you’ve been bringing to me for the past few years, you’ve certainly upheld your end of the favor in a way I didn’t expect you would. I thought I would be with Trace each time you traveled, but you’ve been giving me so many new souls that I don’t think Harris will make any difference in payment.”

“Oh…!” that was pleasantly surprising to hear, “So… that’s it?”

“Quite simply, Love,” he nodded, “If you still decide to do something with Harris, you don’t need to come to me first. You don’t even need to do anything with him at all if you don’t want to. It’s been dropped.”

“Well… That’s very nice of you,” he smiled. 

The Prince smiled back, “You’ve been very honest and very generous ever since we met. I only hope it continues to be that way,” he nodded, “Now, off you go. Don’t want to keep you away for too long.”

With that, Zozo turned to the stairs and traveled up. He certainly felt a lightness about him, and the reason as to why was obvious. With new information under his belt and a chore lifted from his duties, he was ready to head off. And that he did.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Being able to live his double life as a bird on Earth, he figured out everything he could get away with. After a few attempts at trying his luck, he learned that he could appear as a demon for around five minutes before strange things began appearing. Most times, they were doves—an entire, giant flock of them, pure white in color. It brought back memories of living in the mesas and seeing demons get banished in one smooth movement. He never stuck in his demon form long enough to be one of those victims, but he would try his luck with different scenarios and got different reactions from the mysterious heavenly beings. 

If he was ever on his own and shifted out of his bird form, by himself, that’s when the doves would appear. They would grow in numbers by the moments until they became too intimidating and Zozo shifted back. Then, they would flutter off, one by one, and disappear behind objects or once they were out of sight. He would try flying after them, only to find that the doves were incredibly quick and soon escaped; he also attempted to talk to the doves in his demon form, just to see what would happen. The white birds would only look at him and numbered up. 

However, there was once when Zozo appeared as a demon to a human. It was accidental—he’d lost track of the time and suddenly shifted out of his form while hitching a ride on a lone rider’s horse. When the crow-demon became tired of flying he would sit on carriages or the backs of horses behind the saddles, minding his own business as the riders traveled. That time, he rode on the back of a horse, sitting behind a middle-aged woman who was traveling along a dirt road in the forest. The sun was close to setting that day, and the bird had entirely forgotten about his due to shift back into his demon form—and that he did, falling off of the spooked horse and scaring the rider. 

That’s when a mysterious man had emerged from the woods, dressed in white with the scruff of a dog in one hand and a small crucifix in the other. He wasn’t old—in fact, he appeared younger than the rider—but there was authority in the way he lunged forward, courage in the way he yelled, and a strange aura that struck fear into the demon’s heart. The gambler swiftly shifted into his crow form and took to the skies before the man could get any closer and before his dog may have gotten loose and mangled the bird.

The incident had shaken Zozo to the core, and he hid in the nearby trees, wondering just where this man had come from. This rider was alone in the middle of nowhere, with no buildings around for miles. He hid in the cover of branches and leaves and listened. 

The woman was entirely perplexed and spooked, pale in her face. The man had explained that he lived in a small shack, only out trying to find his dog when he caught what happened. He didn’t know what it was that had been seen, but if it was any sort of evil he wanted to stay true to the Church’s methods and banish the possibility of a demon. That seemed to have calmed the rider enough to go on her own again. 

When the rider was out of sight, the man in white looked to the trees—exactly where Zozo was perched. Hot fear swelled in his chest as he stared back, and it only grew hotter as the man stepped closer. Once in the tree-line, the mysterious man said to the crow, “I know what you are. Fly off.”

The bird stared down for a moment more. This man in white had hair the color of cocoa and eyes as blue as the ocean’s. He checked around the area, ensuring nobody else was around and shifted into his demon form without thinking. Zozo crouched on the large branch, seeing that the man and his dog were unfrightened. “...Who are you?” the demon had asked.

The man narrowed his eyes and his frown was unchanging. “We know who you are. You won’t find who you’re looking for. Not today.”

It was a confusing situation. Still, though, it triggered the image of the demon’s lover in his head. “...Do you… know Luther? Do you know where he is?”

“ _ Fly off _ , lest you want to be caught by your Hell-crawling higher-ups.” The man let his dog go, and it amazingly shifted before the demon’s eyes. What was once a canine was then a white dove that fluttered up to the same tree, perching a few branches away from the demon. Then, without a word, the man did the same—shifting into a dove and flying up to sit just next to the gambler. Zozo, too scared to be smitten, immediately tried to turn back into a crow but realized he couldn’t. He’d already expended his use of powers, and so the dove landed on the branch. Panicking, Zozo summoned his grabbers and dragged himself back down to the realm of Hell. 

That ordeal must have happened a year ago. Ever since, it’s made the demon very observant of time, observant of those around him, and observant of his own thoughts. He felt like fleeing was the only thing he could do, but he also regretted leaving so quickly. If there would have been a way to talk with those… beings… he may have been able to retrieve information. They must have been heavenly forces, no? Angels…?

That was just it: he didn’t know. And he might have been able to know had he stuck around longer—but regrets didn’t matter now. It was just something to think about as he soared through the air, high above summer fields. He was near Shreveport, having just checked there again last month for any insight on the search party for Luther—a search that had fizzled out mere weeks after the incident in the tobacco shop—but the crow had to be sure. He didn’t head east for Baltimore, though, he wanted to check up on someone. 

Hours passed as he traveled north. The rows of crops and bumps of the hills were all-too-familiar. Soon enough, he was able to see the creek that snaked through a small woodland sitting behind the town. 

The crow dipped down to the cemetery, surveying the area for anyone who may have been sitting at the benches. There was a small group of adults sharing words amongst the headstones, not mourning but rather spending time in the company of the silent dead. He saw no familiar faces and turned into the village. 

It was the middle of the afternoon and people were hard at work, tending crops, animals, children, and other things. He imagined his sister would be at her own job rather than in her home. To the shop, he went. 

The shop was something that could have belonged in a small town where travelers went through to get to a larger city—something like Springdale. However, this town was anything but that, so the shop was more personal. Trinkets and gadgets were handed off by villagers that visited larger towns, only to be sold to other villagers in the store. On a hot day like this, the windows were open, providing a place to land.

The crow perched on the windowsill and looked in. The shop was decorated with so many different valuables, gadgets, clothes, ornaments, and anything else. It was a charming, shiny shop, upon which his sister worked behind the counter. She was alongside two others, ensuring kids didn’t break anything and directing their patrons to things that might interest them. 

Ruth looked happy. 

She wore a locket—something that the crow had seen opened before. The bird had caught her out in the cemetery once, sitting alongside Benjamin and sharing the day. The crow settled next to her on the bench and saw her opened locket, framing two photographs: on the left, her mother; on the right, her brother.

There was a young child in the store with his father. After a minute or two, the son pointed and laughed, “Birdie! Daddy, look!”

He got the attention of more than his father—a store employee was coming over to shoo the bird out. The demon took this as a time to leave, and fluttered away before he was touched. 

Now then, to Maryland. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


It took roughly two days of travel. Flying was the fastest mode of transportation, but also fairly dangerous. Hawks and owls threatened him day and night—they only hunted by natural instinct, and the gambler couldn’t blame them—which encouraged the crow to ride with others on carriages as long as the day allowed until he had to fly off, shift back and forth, and continue traveling. It wasn’t like those larger birds could actually kill—or, re-kill—the demon, but it would leave his bird body in shambles and he’d either have to retreat to Hell or shift into his demon form, unable to shift back until the day’s end. None of the tribulations really mattered, though, as he had arrived in the great city of Baltimore, Maryland. 

The city was gorgeous; bright with well-maintenanced buildings, beautiful structures, and sturdy architect. Decorations for the upcoming Independence Day were strewn about the city, adding a colorful touch to the town. Lifting himself high above the streets, the crow could see the parting in the land where the ocean came through, blue waters sparkling in the sunlight. Boat chimneys and factory towers smoked white as the heart of the city worked and hundreds of thousands of people moved in the streets. 

The crow had never visited Baltimore, but his twin friends had and told him about the glory of it—it was everything and more that he could have imagined. And, with the hope of discovering the location of his friend, the city seemed to shimmer a little brighter.

He knew he’d be looking for a factory making talking boards—owned by the  _ Kennard Novelty Company _ , if he wasn’t mistaken. It would certainly take a while to find the factory in such a slew of large buildings, but the demon was determined and had no other goals. 

With time, he managed to find the building. It wasn’t exceptional in any way—a simple box-looking building with large windows, signs, and doors. Finding a way in was easy enough, as many of the windows were open, and the crow saw what was expected: people at work. He was able to spot something that looked like the final product after some searching—a simple board game, spelling the alphabet and numbers with a few extra words and details. A kid’s toy, really. He wondered just how Harris was able to wind up on the rich end of a toy company, but it really didn’t matter. As long as he was able to find his pursuer…

...which was the next challenge to face. Surely neither Robert Harris or Elijah Bond would be here in the factory, manufacturing their products. They’d be at an office somewhere, or at home? 

As the crow was thinking, perched on the windowsill, a man walked by and swatted at him. The bird cawed at the man for giving him a genuine scare and flew up to the roof, sitting and thinking. 

How would he find Harris? Maybe he wasn’t even in Baltimore—if his company was doing well then he could have taken a fancy trip somewhere nice. Oh, but what were those odds? There had to be a way to find him, surely. 

The crow knew that he wouldn’t be able to do much on his own. He would survey the city for the month, then recruit demons to join him in the search the next time he traveled. That seemed like a fair plan.


	28. Old Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Job 1:6

The month had passed and Zozo recruited demons to assist in finding Harris. With multiple people on your side, tracking down one man was easy. But after letting all those friends go, thinking you now had everything set, it turned out that the same man you had so easily found was incredibly hard to keep track of. He was part of a business after all—going to visit possible partners, seeking out investors, and even making a family of his own. However, no matter how many times Zozo lost track of Harris, he was always able to find him again, because each time the man would come back to Baltimore and settle down for a while. And there the crow would keep an eye on the man that had forsaken him. 

Zozo wasn’t able to find any information on the whereabouts of his former partner. He had managed to slip into the man’s home and raid his office once. There was nothing in the papers, no documents or diaries describing a chase of any sort—he hadn’t even heard the man  _ talk _ about the satanists he was once so obsessed over. 

And seeing that man… it angered the demon. He thought after Asmodeus’ kind dropping of the deal, Zozo would never have a reason to harm Harris. But a scalding heat grew in his chest every time his eyes landed on the man, and an acidic burn rose to the back of his throat, and his limbs itched to move and dance about. An old fear had turned into present disdain, and the demon felt so betrayed and lost knowing that he knew  _ nothing _ . 

There were many times when the demon thought of shifting out of his bird form and going for Harris. Maybe he could choke some information out of him that way, maybe Harris was hiding the information, maybe he knew that the demon was there, watching him, wanting him. But… Zozo knew that was utterly insane. And, between the fear of being smitten and the guilt that would come with hurting a man with a family, the demon could never quite bring himself to face Harris. 

It was… heartbreaking, to say the least. For five years, he had nothing. Then, finally, a glimmer of hope! A lead, taking him straight to the man—the only man—that could possibly find his partner as he had so many times before. But there was nothing to find other than blissful innocence and a man that had the same face of a murderer, but not the lifestyle of one. 

The bird didn’t want to start from scratch. He couldn't. He couldn’t just… be lost again… searching the world for  _ one _ person.

And yet, there the crow went, flying out of the city. The evening sun stared him in the face, shining a hot orange as it hid below the horizon. 

The crow wondered… why… he was doing all of this. Luther was gone. Everyone and everything had told him that. There were no leads to his disappearance, no clues to hint at his location, no tracks to follow. The reason why Zozo was so desperate in the first place to find this man was because he felt lost in Hell. The only person who would have been able to rightfully lead him through the ravines of darkness hadn’t joined him in the fall, and the crow-demon was left to fend for himself. But now, he had some sort of image. He had a reputation. He was doing fine in Hell. He was backed by many pures and lessers, friends with greaters, and supported by an ancient. He lived comfortably, as if Hell wasn’t so terrible, and didn’t have to worry about many things. Zozo had everything he wanted… except for Luther. 

Was he being irrational? Trying to do something impossible… Was this bad for him? So many doubts circled his head. Maybe he was too attached to that man. Maybe that man had manipulated him. Maybe that man was dead. Maybe that man was alive and had moved on. Maybe that man was with someone else by now. Maybe that man had forgotten about Zozo. About Raymond Earnest. 

The crow landed on a branch. He sat and thought for a very,  _ very _ long time. He questioned himself, he questioned Luther, he questioned everything around him. There were so many things he knew, yet none of them answered the bits he didn’t know. There were so many factors that led to so many different outcomes, and none of those outcomes were appealing to the demon. Nothing seemed to work. Nothing seemed to be worth it.

But he thought of Luther. He thought of just why they became partners, why they became friends, why they met… The blonde had been willing to play his cards for a dead man. Raymond was someone he hardly knew, and yet he gave the gambler a chance.

It was Zozo’s turn to do that. To find a dead man. To give him a chance. 

The crow took to the skies again. If he ever needed Harris again, he knew where to find the bastard. 

And come time, he  _ would _ find Harris again. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Three decades and seven years. That’s how much time had passed. The year was 1927. Zozo learned… a lot of things… within that time. Things that angered him. Things that saddened him. Things that gave him hope, but… not much hope. 

Zozo had gained significant power over time. Decades of being around greater demons will do that to you. He used most of his abilities to shapeshift into different things, seeing how beneficial it was. He could still turn into a crow, but he had an array of other creatures under his belt, too. A deer, a mastiff, a snake, and a praying mantis. Ironic how he used to be terrified of mantises as a child and oftentimes had nightmares about Beata even today, but came to be one with its body. These creatures were mainly used the same way the crow had been used—to get away with things he couldn’t do as a demon—only in some forms, he could perform his tasks much easier than in others. 

Something he could shift into that was probably much more helpful in any situation, though, was his old body. If he wanted to, he could ditch his horns, feathers, tail, and legs and alter them with normal, human replacements. He could look like his old self again… It brought back memories. 

He was able to shift into any form once a day. However, with all these new forms, he could go through the entire list of appearances in one day without having to retreat to his demon state. It was very helpful in a lot of situations and provided much craftier and safer escapes or approaches if needed.

Zozo also picked up the ability to turn invisible. In that form, it was difficult to move and manipulate physical objects as it felt like some magnetic field constantly fought back when he tried to move his limbs, but it was useful in situations when he had to, well, disappear for a short time. It only lasted an hour, at most.

Another thing the demon was able to do was stop visiting Asmodeus to visit Earth. Zozo had scrounged up enough power to push himself into the realm of the living anywhere he pleased, anytime he pleased. The only consequence was the expense of physical energy. When he traveled, he usually rested for a portion of an hour, as realm-jumping felt more like a long sprint by the time it was over with. 

He wasn’t able to find a place of his own in Hell, so he still lived with Trace. The shapeshifter had become somewhat respectable, no longer pushing the question of sex with him and offering help when it was needed. He’d made many friends through Trace and found himself in a small group of lesser and greater demons who fancied themselves to casual nights of drinking and entertainment. It was freeing. Especially since… Luther still hadn’t been found. 

The blonde bastard would have been in his sixties by now. Probably no longer blonde with his hair turning white, and his face would have been carved by time. It was almost comical to think of such a daring person as a weaker, older man. But, the thought was always overshadowed by the same young face and bold demeanor that Zozo remembered his former lover by. 

The demon had almost come to terms with it. He was almost ready to let Luther go. But, at the same time, there was something holding him back. Something in the back of his mind that told him that he could still find Luther. Something… that had been fueled by recent knowledge.

Oftentimes Zozo would visit Earth. He knew that there was no hope in roaming the countryside anymore. So, he went to the one place that he expected Luther to go looking if the blonde ever wanted to find his old friend: that old 24-hour bar in miserable Las Vegas, the one they first met in. He would shift into a crow and wait atop the roof of the building, watching for days at a time in case a familiar face stumbled by. 

The demon was often surprised at how well the tiny city managed to keep up. The right buyers did the right things with the property owned, and the city was soon becoming slightly known. The population had grown since the events that unfolded when the satanists were there, and the little bar that they’d met in still stood strong with good business. 

Zozo didn’t  _ only _ stay at the bar, though. He would still travel from place to place, often visiting his hometown, Shreveport, and Baltimore. A while ago, the demon had discovered something about that little talking board company that Harris was involved in. 

The product had been created by Elijah Bond, who paid Robert Harris to travel and find him inspiration for a new invention. That invention was the Ouija Board, which was ‘inspired’ by the death and strife of Raymond Earnest.

That didn’t sit well with the demon. 

He didn’t find himself blaming Bond. The man was only looking for inspiration, and having never seen or known the man, Zozo had no idea if he was even a bad person. But Harris… Harris was a different story. The old rage swelled in his chest for the past month more than it had in any of the years before. It ate at his brain and made him wake up in the middle of his slumber in a cold sweat. It was Harris. It was all Harris. And that Board basically mocked the demon. 

The crow flew clear from Las Vegas to Baltimore. It was a long, difficult journey in the cold of the year’s start, but it was done.

Zozo had no idea what he was going to do, yet. He didn’t necessarily want to kill the man, but he wanted to make an impact of some kind. And he wanted to get back at his old chaser. 

Mr. Harris, at this age, was in his late sixties. He was a wealthy man, quite so, and lived alone in Baltimore. His kids had grown and moved out, and the demon didn’t know what became of his wife, but she was gone. It was early evening, the crow had been in the city for two days before visiting Harris’ abode. The demon learned about the well-selling Board. He learned how to play. He learned about his own mind, not fully understanding his suddenly malicious train of thoughts. He learned how to get back at Harris. 

If he wouldn’t kill the man, maybe he would do a little gambling. Maybe, he could make the man spend a little too much money. Maybe, he could run this man dry, like what had happened vice versa so many years ago. 

The Ouija Board wasn’t necessarily new. Talking boards that read your future or had meaningless conversations were a known topic in the world, but this product had the right funding and reception, granting it mass success. It was simple: you would ask it questions and it would spell out answers. 

But what would happen if those answers were manipulated? By, say, an invisible force?

Zozo had learned that Harris, even that day, was a greedy man. A flourishing business, large house, and happy family just wasn’t enough. And his old mind didn’t come up with many great propositions. The demon had watched Harris, heard him talk to himself, and figured out his train of thoughts. The old man was trying to convince himself to not invest in something crazy—he wanted to make another factory in Baltimore to manufacture the Board. And, for some reason, he was having a hard time telling himself  _ no _ .

So, Zozo waited for the man to sit down at his desk. Harris had a Ouija Board of his own—flaunting a product he helped create to himself. That fateful evening, the man asked the board what to do. 

Zozo, in an invisible state, gave his advice. 

_ Prepare for big business _ , the Board spelled. 

Surely, Harris would overestimate his wallet. 

...But it turned out not to be that way. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Half a year later, the factory was being built. Three stories tall, glorious and productive. And Harris hadn’t suffered a penny more than invested. 

At this point, the gambler was in a serious state of frustration and hatred. He thought for sure that he could—if anything—inconvenience the man. The gambler didn’t really want to hurt him. He didn’t want to hurt anyone, he was just trying to find peace with himself! Who was he kidding? He had no idea how to be part of a business or spend large sums of money the way Harris did. Maybe there was still a chance that the factory would end up in the dirt. If he was just patient…

But where did patience get him? Zozo had been patient for thirty-seven years, and yet here he was. Still without anything he sought after. 

His patience was running thin.

It was late into the day. The factory was coming along, but most of the workers had packed up for the day and returned home. The ones who stayed were few and far between, most likely collecting their things or checking up on this and that before heading home. But, there was someone there who wasn’t a worker. Someone the demon was very interested in. 

Robert Harris.

He was on a balcony of the factory, surveying the paused construction. He’d been up there for a fair while, maybe thinking to himself. Zozo was below, next to the doors in the form of a snake. He’d also been thinking to himself and had a plan.

One of the doors was wedged open for remaining workers to come in and out, making it easy to get inside as a serpent. 

Though the second and third floors weren’t entirely completed, business was working on the first floor. Only a few Boards were being produced, and the factory was practically working in slow motions, but finished products were already being stacked and stored for shipment. The snake went to these boards, ensured no one was around to see him, and stealthily shifted into a human-like form. 

The crow demon had one forgotten ability that he’d never used. It was given to him by his old patron, Beata, and uniquely had a one-time use. If he remembered correctly, he hadn’t expended it. 

The ability he’d remembered was the vague, mysterious power of “cursing” something. The demon recalled the details, something about cursing one item would in turn curse all its copies that had already been made and were going to be made. And, the curse could be whatever he wanted—within reason, he assumed.

And for the past half-year, he’d been doing some major creative thinking. 

He wanted these Ouija Boards to be used as easy gateways for demons in Hell. Unsurprisingly, satanism and summoning demons was an extremely rare practice. Not enough demons knew how to get to earth willingly without knowing the right people, not enough demons knew where to go to break through the barrier of Hell and Earth when satanists summoned them, and not enough demons were even powerful enough to do so. The method Zozo used to get to Earth and back was very different from the methods he’d seen used by Luther, Mabel, and himself back when he was still alive. If he could curse the Boards to be easy gateways between the worlds, then unwilling players would bring demons to Earth, the company would go out of business, and things would work out. 

That was his plan, anyway. 

He hoped it would even work. As he reached a hand out to a stray Board made of wood and painted-on letters he thought of what he would do if this didn’t work. What if the gift given by Beata only worked before he would have died? What if the curse ended up going wrong and it only made things worse for the demon? What if—?

His fingertips touched the Ouija Board and he felt a surge of shock run up his arm. The muscles of his limb locked up and spasmed and he tried his very best not to shout in pain. He clutched his arm with his opposite hand and held it against his body as a sickening feeling bellowed in his gut. It was like he had touched the surface of a hot stove, but the heat found its way inside of him. 

Looking at the Board, he noticed something slightly off. Two fingerprint-shaped marks were burned onto the wood and it smelled of singed hair. 

Suddenly, he felt extremely ill. The crow-demon keeled over and pressed his forearms into his stomach, as if it would help the sudden onslaught of overstimulation. As the sickness writhed like tapeworms in his guts, his fingertips decided to join the fun. 

The tips of his fingers felt like dozens of needles were under the skin, trying to poke through the flesh. His fingernails felt unlike his own, growing thick and infected as they protruded from their bases and curled around his tips. The skin of his hands felt dry and thick, like old, molding leather. The gambler dared to let go of his stomach to look at his hands and found that his skin had turned increasingly dark and grey—nearly black. Thick, wiry, and long hairs had emerged along the backs of his hands and digits and made him look like a beast. But that wasn’t the worst of it, no, for his fingernails had turned to curled, black claws, bloodied from his own system and shaking upon trembling fingers. 

Zozo wasn’t sure how to feel. Did he curse the Board? Did he not? What was all this about? He felt like he should have known, like the answer was at the tip of his tongue, but between the overwhelming pain and the crippling fear, he had no idea. Upon looking down he quickly realized that he’d somehow shifted into his demon form by the look of his feet. He brought his trembling hands up to his head, seeing that his feathers were slowly growing back and feeling that his horns were crowned upon his skull. He swiftly attempted to shapeshift, but each time it didn’t work. He would begin the shift but was unable to pass the entire way, only reforming back to his demon-like appearance. 

He knew he had to leave lest he was caught, but… somehow he couldn’t. It wasn’t like he was trying and failing, the demon simply couldn’t string the thought together of leaving. Rather, plaguing his mind was the image of Harris. God, if he could just pull himself together and escape this hell! He didn’t even know what was happening! He had to leave!

Zozo looked back to the front doors of the factory but saw a few workers stationed nearby it, talking with each other. The demon dropped low, the pulsating explosions in his fingertips wanting to make him scream. He attempted to stay as stealthy as possible in this obnoxious form of his by hiding behind machines and walls; it was truly a miracle that he hadn’t been seen already. And while he festered in his agony, trying so hard to grasp something that couldn’t even be thought, this overwhelming emotion clouded his judgment. 

Without even realizing it, the crow-demon was making his way to the stairs. Up the flight he went, not stopping, hardly faulting his steps. Nobody was around to witness him in such a large enclosure. And though he had no real idea where he was going, he also had a vague image of where he should have been. Not Hell, but somewhere in this building. Somewhere on the third floor. 

No occupants roamed the second or third floor. This gave easy passage through the building as the demon dragged himself up the flights. He felt the world moving past him like a train, though the distance up to the highest floor seemed twice as far as it really was. It all felt like some intense dream. He could almost think his thoughts and almost control his own body, but he also felt like some sort of machine. Or some sort of ghost, if those were to exist. It felt… so strange.

And then, when he regained full consciousness, he found himself in front of a door. The height he’d ascended and the placement of the frame made him realize that he was facing the doorway of a balcony. He just seemed to know…

The crow-demon opened the door. A balcony hung from the building, only a few yards in width and length. A metal railing surrounded the outermost edges of the balcony, ensuring no accidents to come to anyone who stood upon the surface. 

Particularly, to the man that stood on it now. 

Before the demon was a stout, old man. His dark grey hair was thinned along the crown of his head and combed neatly along his scalp. The man turned left, showing a very skinny, limp arm in a sling—something he’d kept with him for the latter half of his life. His chestnut-colored eyes were filled with young bewilderment despite his aged face. A dark, ashy mustache sat atop a pair of sneering lips. A silver chain hung from the pocket of his vest. 

Zozo felt himself tighten. His muscles tensed, his jaw clenched, and his heart felt as if it shrunk and was hiding behind his ribcage. He stepped onto the balcony and slowly closed the door behind him. It shut with a  _ -click- _ .

The old man squinted while leaning against the railing, trying to stay as far away from the figure before him while simultaneously trying to understand just what he was staring at. 

A white dove, unnoticed, perched on the rooftop above them. 

“...Robert Harris? Is that right?” the demon asked, nearly choking on his own breath. He didn’t know why he was doubting himself—he’d been watching this man for decades now. He knew what this man looked like. And yet, having never interacted with him, the feeling was entirely new. 

The old man furrowed his brow. “Who are you?” he asked with authority.

The crow-demon stepped forward, causing the man to jump in fear. He had nowhere to run, though. 

There was a strange comfort radiating off of Harris. Zozo didn’t know what was coming over him, but just seeing the remaining pieces of his chaser’s face only reminded him of better times. Well, perhaps not “better” times, but times when he had a grasp on what he was doing. Times when he felt like he was the center of the universe and everyone orbited around him. Times when he had a friend or two that actually cared for him. Times when he had a problem that was chasing him, not one that he had to find. He stepped closer, again.

“Stay back!” the old man voiced, raising his only functional arm. 

A flash in his memories brought the gambler back to the numerous times he’d had a gun pointed at him. He saw the gun for a split-second before realizing it was all in his head and seeing that this man was unarmed.

There would be no point in trying to have a conversation. The demon asked a simple question, “Where’s Luther?”

Harris squinted at him and curled his lips but said nothing. He only pressed himself harder against the railing. 

The gambler thought that he was staying quiet because he knew of Luther’s location. With the tips of his fingers dripping with blood from newly-grown claws he brought his hands up to his chest, trying to stop the emotional pain. “Please, where is he?”

“Get away from me!” Harris snapped. “I don’t even know who— _ what _ you are!”

This struck a chord. “It’s  _ me! _ Are you kiddin` me?!” the crow-demon barked back, “I’m the bastard that you killed! And you’re tellin` me you don’t even know my face?!” he pointed to himself, nearly poking his eye out. 

The old man only flinched. But, something in his face showed that he was connecting the dots. “You…  _ You? _ How are you alive?! I saw your body!” he stopped himself, “You damn pagan, you! You brought yourself back!”

The demon wanted to cry at how backwards this man had everything in his mind, even still. He didn’t notice the doves that were crowding the roof above and behind him. “No, I—!”

“Get the hell away from me!  _ Get away! _ You’d really come back just to hurt me?”

The gambler grabbed his head in strife, though immediately tore his hands away upon feeling sharp, pointy pain on his scalp. He didn’t care about getting through to this man, he just wanted answers. “Yes,  _ fine! _ Yes I came back! Where’s Luther?”

Harris snarled, “Like I’d know! I don’t even know your name, how the hell would I know where that damned sodomist is?!”

The demon was offended, but he felt the denial more than the insults. For decades he’d been searching, finally found an opportune moment to ask the only person in the entire world who would know where his lover was, only to be given a hard “no”. He thought if he could just give answers, he would receive answers in return. “Zozo! I’m Zo—No, damnit! Ray—!  _ F-ck! _ ” he tripped on his words. 

A number of doves had landed on the railing just out of the demon’s sight. 

“Please! Please, you have to know!” Zozo cried out. “You’re the only one who knows! You have to know! You  _ have _ to!” He stepped up to the old man, reaching out to grab ahold of his vest and… and…! He didn’t know! 

Ultimately, though, it was something that he never had to know. It was something that was never accomplished. As curved claws extended to tear into the old man, the railing behind Harris gave way. Without a blink the demon watched his former chaser lose his balance and fall backward, descending three stories straight to the ground. 

In a fleeting effort, the gambler launched himself onto the balcony floor, reaching for the man’s hand as he fell. Unfortunately, he couldn’t be saved. 

Zozo could only watch over the ledge on his stomach as the old man fell further and further away, only to stop abruptly once his back kissed the ground and one of his ribs punctured his heart. 

Robert Harris laid there, gasping for his last breaths, staring up at the crow-demon. 

The crow-demon stared back.

Zozo was only able to peel his gaze away when he heard the shrieks of nearby cityfolk witnessing the body on the ground. The demon flipped over and kicked off the floor, slapping his hands over his mouth so he didn’t scream as he curled up against the door, out of sight from anyone on ground-level. He didn’t let himself breathe and kept his eyes wide open, shaking violently. 

He noticed the pure-white doves around him, now. A few fluttered down in front of him, eyeing him. Putrid fear writhed in his chest like a choking rat, but he couldn’t muster up the strength to send himself back to his realm. He knew he was going to be smitten, and the thought toppled with the despair and sent a waterfall of tears down his cheeks. The demon covered his eyes, showed his teeth, and kept his chin down, only letting his palms touch him. He would have torn himself open if the claws touched his skin. He only hoped that he could stand the pain of the doves enough not to shout and alert the people below. He hoped that the pain would be quick. 

Zozo sat there, weeping, and weeping hard. He heaved air into his lungs only to expel them out with twice the force. His legs were curled in tight to his torso and his arms moved to wrap around his churning stomach. A mess of salty tears stained his once-dry face—a face that was twisted with deep, deep sorrow and regret. He cried for a fair amount of time before finally opening his eyes. 

What he saw was one dove. As white as snow, and eyeing him closely, but it was the only one around. There were no others on the floor of the balcony, none on the remaining railings, none on the roof above him. 

The crow-demon attempted to calm himself down. He wiped his face with his arms and shirt, trying to take deep breaths, all while his emotional state seeped through it all. If he could just recollect himself enough to gather the concentration to leave, he could do just that and escape this nightmare. 

The dove did nothing. It only stood and watched, as if guarding. Much longer than a measly ten minutes had passed—usually the time when demons were expected to be smitten—and it truly did confuse the gambler. However, he didn’t argue with it. He didn’t try to talk to the bird, he didn’t try to listen in on the commotion below, he didn’t even have his eyes open half the time. He just calmed himself enough to breathe somewhat normally and summoned the grabbers. They pulled him below, and the dove was the only thing left on the balcony that evening. 

Zozo appeared in his room, just in front of his bed, where he’d last been. He looked down at his hands, bleeding and disgusting, and hated them. He hated their look, he hated the pain, he hated it all. 

The demon raced for a water source within the house, cleaning his hands and making his fresh claws burn even more. Uncaring if he was heard, he groaned in pain and swore to the open air. 

Very soon, his housemate descended the stairs. “The hell are you back for?” Trace asked. 

Zozo didn’t respond at first. Not until the shapeshifter was at the bottom of the flight did the crow-demon turn to him, extending shaking hands. “...Can… Can you help…?” he asked pathetically.

Trace stopped in his tracks, frowning. He saw Zozo’s hands and hissed through his teeth in a cringing way. “...Didn’t go well?” he asked genuinely.

Zozo shook his head.

  
  


* * *

  
  


He’d seen it in the paper. Robert Harris, after suffering a “freak fall,” died hours after he was hospitalized. The railing of his company building gave way and he suffered through the “accident.” The crow-demon didn’t need to know the details of his death. The paper didn’t even know what had happened, truthfully, but of course Zozo did. 

With no other leads, no clues to find, no people to ask, and no motivation, the crow-demon had stopped asking others to help him in his search. There was no point. Mr. Stagmire had hidden himself away so well. Too well. And with as old as that blonde bastard would have been today, there was no use in finding him anyway. The memories would be there, written in his aged face, but not the same feelings as Zozo had before. 

The demon’s hands had stopped bleeding the same day he returned to Hell. But, the claws never disappeared. They were there and there to stay. Luckily, with all this free time that he had, now, he could focus on long-term shapeshifting. It was a practice that most demons did—they would alter their permanent appearance that way. Any attribute or detail they wanted done to their body they could have with enough power, time, and dedication. And… Zozo sighed at the thought of having all of that. 

He really,  _ really _ did hate the claws. It made him look so animalistic—as if he hadn’t already appeared that way before. Every time he had an itch he would only scrape or cut his skin. Each time he reached for something he had to mind the claws lest he damage anything. He couldn’t even touch anyone without them feeling like they were being attacked. Zozo figured out why he had the claws, though. Through his panic he wasn’t able to remember why earlier, but now he recalled that with each power given by his patron would want some sort of painful payment in response. Remembering that only reminded him of his powers, which reminded him of his patron, which reminded him of his lover, and… it just kept coming back to him. 

Even though he’d called the search off, Zozo still tried to make attempts to find Luther. Or, rather, to stumble upon him. So, the demon, while assuming a crow form, perched himself upon the rooftop of the 24-hour bar that he and his lover had first met in. It was a practice already done by the demon, but now was being performed nearly full-time. That was the building where it all started. If it were to start again, that would be the place. Though, he knew better than to get his hopes up. All he was doing was lying to himself, and he knew it. He would just lie to himself for a little longer until his heart was satisfied with the lack of success and he would move on.

For another several years, the crow-demon lived day-by-day. Perched upon the roof of the bar he would sit and watch customers come and go. He would study their looks, their voices, their outputs, and rule out each and every single one. None of them were who he was looking for. And each time, he knew it. 

The demon watched many things change. The industrial period had passed some time ago, but he was still astonished with the new technology that humans were able to create. He’d watch cars roll by—cars!—he’d see roads being paved, he’d see buildings taller than he ever imagined possible be built, he’d watched the Great Depression strike, he’d seen Wars unfold. Fashion changed, slang changed, cities changed, culture changed. Each decade that passed brought something to the table, something new, something innovating, something exciting, something tragic. These were things that, with time, brought the gambler to see a different light. He hardly ever hung around Earth as a crow unless he had to. Everyone had forgotten his face after years and years, and he felt relatively safe walking around in a human form. He would race to keep up with the styles and trends, and with each shift he forgot a little more and little more about his past traumas. 

One thing that had never changed, though, was that 24-hour bar. Even after the huge expansion of  _ Fabulous _ Las Vegas (or, nicknamed Sin City! The gambler would wonder if the name was coincidentally the same as Hell’s city or if a particular demon was spreading the culture clear from Hell) the bar still stood. It had become much bigger and brighter, but it was still the same bar that Zozo always knew. He would visit there on days when his sadness became too much to bear, on special occasions, or on holidays (since Hell’s residents didn’t celebrate much). 

For 135 years after his death, Zozo watched humans expand and create. He witnessed suffrage and rights movements, he witnessed the horrors of war, the colors of expansion, the invention of tiny gadgets, the landing of other worlds, and so much more. Everything moved so fast and he wanted to be a part of it all, and in a lot of cases he was! He pushed his way into groups that changed history for the better, and even as a demon, he felt human. 

That could be applied in more places than one. As he practiced permanent shapeshifting he was able to alter his appearance for the better. He managed to get rid of his crow legs and tail, finally able to walk around normally again. He grew his horns out, having them wrap around his head in a ring like a ram’s. He also ditched the claws, but found them to be somewhat useful in fights. Any crazy bastards in Hell who tried to pick a fight would be ripped up by them. So, while they were a double-edged sword, he kept normal-looking hands for the most part. If he ever needed the claws for defense he could shapeshift to have them—similarly to how he shifted into a crow. He could do the same thing with a pair of wings, too. Though they weren’t a huge necessity, it was more of a fashion-statement in Hell. If he needed to show off, he could grow large, leathery wings and assert himself. 

One thing he never got rid of, though, were the feathers. The large feathers on his arms were something he quite enjoyed. It was like his signature in a way. Besides, he needed something else to make him look less-than-human. There was a whole rule in Hell that if you looked “too human” you could get into serious trouble. At minimum, you’d need horns, a tail, and wings—or something else to contribute if those weren’t part of your style. Zozo was  _ fairly  _ certain he was fine, but he knew he was right on the border. 

For a few years, the demon never wanted to hear about Harris or his company ever again. But, curiosity consumed him and he discovered that his little plan of cursing the Board worked. It took awhile for demons to catch on, but once they did it was something that a lot of them took advantage of. Pures, lessers, and greaters broke through the barrier of Hell and appeared on Earth, creating havoc any way they wanted. It gave the Board a bad reputation, but also made it something of a legend on Earth. The Board had its high-rise for a bit in Hell, but many started to find holes in the system. The Board only worked if someone played it, sure, but the demons could just as easily be cast out of the living realm if the game ended with a “goodbye.” On top of that, most demons were either bound to the house or the room they were summoned in, unable to reach further. That was something unforeseen and unsolved, and it was just something that demons would have to live with. On top of  _ that _ , too, many demons were getting in trouble by ancients that followed the Devil. Unsolicited travel to Earth was essentially illegal and could get any demon damned. Zozo kept his mouth shut about being the one to curse the Board in order to save his skin, and eventually the hype fell. Now, demons would use the gateway for simple fun or trickery. Even Zozo would use it just to talk with humans at times. 

Zozo forgot his sorrows. Zozo moved on. There was little time to waste and so much to do in the world. Though, there were definitely days when he missed the man that brought him to his situation, and there were definitely times when he still wished he could go back, he was happy that he got as far as he did. He was happy that he got as close as he did to finding Luther. In the end, that’s what mattered to him. In later days, he would relax at the 24-hour bar, drinking light and giving advice to any lonely souls at the stools. The gambler hardly gambled—he hadn’t even touched a deck of cards for years, and he felt lucky enough not to descend into the pitfalls of addiction when he  _ was _ gambling. 

On a bright day, just before lunch, the crow-demon found himself in the bar. The building was relatively quiet and calm as not many people found themselves here before dark. Zozo had a human form, sipping a glass of water as he wanted to keep his appetite for the upcoming meal. The bartender would check up on him every now and again, always very polite, and Zozo would kindly decline any offers for the moment. He just wanted to sit.

The doors at the opposite end of the bar would open and ring every now and again, affecting nobody. It didn’t bother Zozo when they opened the latest time. 

Footsteps over the tile approached behind the ex-gambler. A man sat on the seat next to him, asking the bartender for two shots of whiskey. Zozo didn’t care at all, this happened frequently, and he minded his own business. 

The man was given his drinks and all was sound. Until said man slid one of the glasses over to the ex-gambler. Zozo looked up and over at the man, getting a good look at him. He was dressed in black trousers, blacker shoes, and a white shirt with a flipped-up collar. He was pale, as if the sun hated him and refused to shine down upon him, and yet he looked healthy. His blonde hair fell over his head in curly streaks, thick and long enough to create bangs. His jaw was covered in a strange cut of beard, something intricate but not classy. He was a strange fellow for this time but was in no way a daffodil in a field of roses, however one thing that stood out to the demon was the stranger’s bright blue eyes. “Slow day?” the man asked, making conversation.

Zozo blinked and made a double-take. This man reminded him of… No, that’s not it. With a smile and a raise of the brow he took the glass and spun it in his fingers on the table. “Entirely. But I like them, most times.”

“Simple man, simple man,” the blonde raised the glass to his lips and took a sip. “Not working?”

“No, I’ve got the day off. Was plannin` on gettin` lunch here then headin` out,” he fibbed.

The blonde nodded. “I’ve ate here once or twice. Good food, isn’t it?”

“Damn good,” Zozo played into his small talk. And though everything seemed fine about this encounter, the demon couldn’t shake off this feeling. 

“Sorry for being pushy, but, you don’t happen to gamble, do you? Old school poker, by chance?”

Zozo sort of chuckled. “No, not anymore. I quit a long time ago.”

“Long time ago? You hardly look old enough to be in this bar. You gambling at seven years old?”

The demon laughed, “No no, course not. Just feels like forever.”

“Well, it’s a shame you don’t play anymore.”

“Trust me, you’d have more luck at the casinos,” the demon teased. 

The blonde smirked, “Really? That confident, huh?”

“I used to have some tricks up my sleeve,” he shrugged. 

“I’d ask you to show me, but I’m having fun just talking to you!” The blonde held out his hand and the demon shook it. The stranger spoke, “Now, now listen, I know this is going to sound a bit pushy,” it was so strange how his voice sounded so similar to… “but I’d love to keep you for lunch. We can talk and be buddies.”

Zozo raised a brow. “You’re not gonna weasel me into playin` with you if that’s your thought process.”

“No, no, not that. I just…” he looked off to the side, thinking. 

“What is it?” the demon asked, seeing silver eyes where blue ones should have been. 

“Well, I just want you to know that I’m not keeping you because there’s someone outside waiting for you.”

The ex-gambler furrowed his brow and felt his chest tighten. 

“Not this time.”

A long moment passed. Zozo had frozen in place, just staring back at this blonde man. He wanted to speak, he wanted to ask questions, but surely this was all a coincidence. Surely he was just overthinking, right? The demon studied the stranger up and down, trying to convince himself.

The blonde’s fingers drummed on the table and he looked almost… guilty. “I just wanna… catch up. A lot has happened since… you know…” he looked the ex-gambler in the face, “If we can just talk, Raymond…?”

How did he…

...know…

...his name…?

Raymond swallowed, feeling the heat envelope his body and rise just beneath the skin. He let go of his glass. “...Luther?”

The blonde bastard smiled. He plastered a genuine, heartfelt smile across his face. “Yeah…” Luther said quietly, “I’m here, Ray. It’s me.”

A painful knot developed in the ex-gambler’s throat. It burned and choked him out of all words, and yet it felt so thrilling. Every muscle in his body tensed, only to relax again. Memories came flooding in like a tidal wave, thoughts spun like a storm, and emotions fired like a gun. Raymond tried his very best not to let his eyes water, and not to let those watering eyes leak. He looked down. All he’d ever done was cry over this man for 135 years. Could he not muster up the strength to—?

He looked up and saw that face. That face he’d known for so long. 

Raymond Earnest laughed. He laughed softly and brought a sleeve to his eyes. 

They’d finally found each other.

* * *

**_COPPER & BONES_ **

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo, look at that! The last chapter to this stupidly long story! Man, it’s just… wow. Still feels a bit unreal to me, gotta say.
> 
> Firstly and most importantly, thank you so very much for reading. This has been a complete rollercoaster from start to finish and I’m so happy you stopped by to read it all. To be entirely honest, I never expected C&B to be this long (a whole eight chapters longer than my last story posted), but I’m happy with each and every part of it… I hope you’re happy with it too! 
> 
> C&B is a backstory to one of the multiple characters in a much larger story that I’m developing. I usually never write anything like this—especially when it’s not even a huge part of the main story—but it happened and it was super fun! I hope you had as much fun reading it as I did writing it. 
> 
> Thank you so much, again. And really, I mean it. On a site used to post fanfics, I’m so happy that even a few people were interested and invested in an original story. This was a passion project and I’m glad you were right there with every update! I just… I can’t thank you enough. You’re all the best~ 
> 
> So, before this gets too long, I’ll end it here. Hope you got some joy out of that final segment to C&B (here’s a secret: it wasn’t supposed to have a good ending at all—you can probably guess where the bad ending was supposed to happen—but I knew it would be better if I added a few more chapters to help out), I know I did. Wrapping it up like this gives you guys the right mix of closure and ambiguity, I think.
> 
> Stay tuned for one more “chapter”—I’ll be posting a link to a google doc with some extra info, a silly summary, a short explanation on what happened there at the end, and art I did for the story. And hey, maybe I’ll even hint at the bigger story this is a part of! Other than that (which should be out in a few days), this is it!
> 
> One last time, thank you all so much! You fueled this story and kept me determined to finish it, and I think it worked out really well! Thank you, thank you, thank you, and I love you all so much <3
> 
> Always for you,  
> ~Ozzy~


	29. ~Always For You~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey~

Hello~

Here’s the link to the doc with extra info and art I did for the story!

<https://docs.google.com/document/d/1HYf_PNgrdxeMASqNwqhjY1Ls5jpqiHG5jZ9tqbrc3P4/edit>

If I could post pictures here and avoid the link, I would. But, it really doesn’t matter.

Hope this last piece for _C &B_ does you guys good~

<3 


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